Stars and Lights
by sniperrifle001
Summary: Modern AU. Mary is an up and coming actress on the cusp of global stardom. Matthew is a photographer getting back into the game after a long absence. They meet on a shoot for Rolling Stone magazine, things go from there.
1. Chapter 1

**Part I: Dinner Party**

_I_

She smiled as best she could. And she was good at it. She had plenty of practice on red carpets and in press interviews. She was a professional. But this felt different. She was no stranger to photoshoots. In fact this was her third in a week. She was on quite a roll, promoting her new movie. But this felt different. He didn't use strobes, which already marked him out to be unusual. Typically, only the serious ones that considered themselves artists shot without the use of flashes. _Natural light painters._ But this felt different.

There was nothing pretentious about him. He didn't affect the same air of lofty brilliance that she would've expected from a photographer of his style. Not that she particularly knew much about his style. She had just made some guesses based off the sparseness of studio, the lack of assistants, and the workmanlike quality of his shooting.

He didn't speak much at all. Sure, he told her to turn around, to look in a certain direction or another but he didn't try to make conversation with her. He didn't seem particularly interested in talking about how great these photos were going to turn out or how Rolling Stone magazine was going to love them. He didn't talk about famous galleries where his work had been featured or how much his latest photos had sold for. But neither was he starstruck by her presence. He didn't seem intimidated by her beauty or graceful demeanour. She had wondered several times throughout the course of the shoot if he was even aware who she was. But he had to have known, he was working for a famous magazine and greeted her by name when she came in.

It wasn't to say that he was unfriendly. But he didn't seem the least bit interested in trying to impress her or make her more comfortable, which most people did when they first meet her. It didn't offend her but it she did take notice. Not many people could resist the charms of Mary Crawley. _Actress, model, philanthropist._ She had been reading her own Wikipedia page again.

"Alright, let's take a break," he said simply, seemingly more interested in his lens than he was in her.

She exhaled and awkwardly moved away from the window, where she had been posing. She watched him curiously as he sat down at the laptop he had set up beside him. He didn't take any notice of her.

"How's it going?" the voice of her assistant came tunneling towards her with the usual tone of girlish enthusiasm.

"I can't tell," Mary said as she turned her attention away from the photographer towards her assistant. "He doesn't speak very much."

"Oh yes. I'll admit he's not very talkative," her assistant replied. "But I hope he wasn't rude."

"No, not at all," Mary admitted. "He just doesn't seem particularly impressed by me."

"What do you want him to do? Sing your praises? Ask for your autograph? Like all the others?" her assistant teased.

"You know I didn't mean it like that," Mary said demurely as she realized how she had sounded.

"He is unusual, I'll give you that," her assistant said.

"How do you know him, Rose?" Mary asked. "He doesn't seem like any photographer I've ever met. I've never heard of him before."

"Oh, he's a friend of daddy's," Rose admitted.

"Using your connections once again?" Mary asked her young assistant as she raised an eyebrow at her.

"Actually, I think daddy was doing him a favour this time around," Rose said.

"Well, I hope he's good," Mary said in a grave tone as if to silently add _or else_.

"Don't be so snobbish," Rose shot back at Mary. "Just because he doesn't fawn over you doesn't mean he's incapable."

"You always think the worst of me," Mary said jokingly.

"I just think you don't like the idea of a man, who's not gay, who doesn't instantly fall for your natural charm," Rose replied coyly.

"I've never said that," Mary replied, feigning indignance.

"You don't have to, you think it, and that's all it takes for me to know," Rose said as she stuck out her tongue at her boss. "He's handsome though, isn't he?"

Mary's gaze returned back to the photographer. She supposed that Rose was right, his dirty blonde hair and his strong shoulders did make him rather more attractive the average photographer she usually got. But it was his eyes that captured her attention the most. Those clear blue eyes that seemed to stare right through her. She couldn't tell if it was mere disinterest or a muted sadness, but there was something ineffable about them. A feeling that she got that she just couldn't shake.

He was still there, hovering of his laptop, completely entranced by it. He seemed humourless, a craftsmen rather than an artiste. There was a certain matter-of-factness to his movements and his way of handling the camera. He didn't cherish it or love it the way that some photographers did. Nor did he just toss it around like it was nothing. It was just a tool in his hand.

"He's not terrible looking," Mary conceded, affecting an unimpressed tone.

Rose didn't reply. She just smiled at Mary, knowingly.

"Did you know his last name is also Crawley?" Rose asked.

"What?" Mary asked.

"You think there's any relation?" Rose continued.

"I don't think so," Mary answered, "He's American, I don't know anyone in my family who emigrated, since at least as far back to my grandfather's time."

"Well, quite the coincidence, wouldn't you say?" Rose asked.

"I'm not sure if it's that interesting," Mary said, feigning boredom.

"I can tell he's going to drive you crazy," Rose replied.

"Whatever," Mary replied as she waved her hand dismissively.

"Shall we start again in five minutes?" The photographer shouted from across the room.

"Yes?" Mary half-answered half-questioned.

"Yes?" He echoed.

"Yes, that will be fine," Rose replied in her stead.

The photographer replied to both of them with a friendly smile before returning his attention back to his laptop.

"What did I tell you?" Rose teased.

The rest of the shoot went by smoothly. Mary had a few more wardrobe changes but nothing that required her to redo her makeup or change her hair. It was a casual shoot, with the usual expensive clothing and heels, designed specifically to make her look gorgeous, elegant, and untouchable. It was just a shame that the photographer treated her that way as well. She would've liked for him to at least try to engage her a little bit. As it was, she felt like little more than a mannequin.

He was far too serious, she decided. He never smiled except in the most decidedly appropriate of circumstances. And there was something restless about him. There was something of a perfectionist streak in him, the way he pushed the couch around the studio until it finally caught the perfect lighting coming in from the tall windows of the studio. He wasn't afraid of labour and doing things and had no assistants to help him, which she found odd as well.

Mary took a deep breath and relaxed herself on the couch once he had finally announced that they were finished.

"How do you think they will turn out?" Mary asked as she kicked off the heels and put her feet up onto the couch.

"Good, I think," he answered simply.

"Well, you can give me a little more than that, can't you?" Mary pushed for a more detailed answer.

"Miss Crawley, you don't have to worry," he replied. "I know what I'm doing."

"Yes, that's what they keep telling me," Mary said as she stretched herself out on the couch. "Rose seems to think quite highly of you."

"I think that's more her father's opinion than her own," he replied.

"If you're so good, why haven't I worked with you until now?" Mary asked suspiciously.

"I wasn't a fashion photographer until recently," he answered.

"They sent me to work with an amateur, that's just great," Mary said sarcastically as she turned to stare at the ceiling.

"I'm not an amateur," he replied coldly.

"I didn't mean to offend," Mary said derisively, challenging the meaning of her words with her tone.

"I'm not offended," he replied in the same professional neutral tone as before.

Just then, the clicking of heels caught both of their attentions. Rose had returned.

"How did it go, you two?" Rose asked as she approached.

"Mr. Crawley here seems to think it went well," Mary said as she sat up and put her feet back into her heels.

"Miss Crawley doesn't agree," he responded in kind.

"Did something happen?" Rose asked as she put her hand on her hip, displaying her potential disappointment.

"I don't disagree," Mary said as she shot him a sinister look, "I just haven't seen your work before so I can't make a proper judgement."

He simply rolled his eyes as he continued to pack his equipment away. He didn't seem interested in picking a fight with her. She got the distinct feeling that he found her entitled. It was a fair criticism. She was self-aware enough to know that she received certain privileges given her work and her fame. But she hadn't been a bitch to him and she couldn't understand why he was acting like that's how she had treated him.

Rose hurried Mary along, getting her up off of the couch and walking with her back behind the screen so that she could change back into her regular clothes. By the time they were done, the stylist and makeup artist had long since left. It was just the photographer waiting for them.

"You waited for us," Mary said, "how kind."

"I've got to lock up," he said with his perfunctory smile as he held up the keys.

Mary simply replied by rolling her eyes.

They walked out of the studio together in an awkward silence. Rose and Mary were polite enough to wait for him as he brought down the iron gates that secured his studio space.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Rose said, "it's your party tonight isn't it, Matthew? Should I bring anything?"

"Oh, I didn't realize you were still coming," he said with a pleasant lilt in his voice. "I thought you were only in town for work."

"Of course I'm coming. I can work and play at the same time you know, it is possible," Rose replied.

"Don't you start too," Matthew said.

"What party is this?" Mary asked curiously while eyeing Matthew with a devilish stare.

"Oh," Rose said nervously, "we're celebrating Matthew's first job in well…"

"It's been a while," Matthew finished off Roses' thought.

"My, my, I suppose congratulations are in order, I hope I was a good reinauguration," Mary said.

"You should come, Mary!" Rose suggested.

Neither Matthew nor Mary spoke as neither knew exactly what to say in that situation.

"That is…" Rose said as she tried to backtrack, "if that's okay with you, Matthew."

"Of course," Matthew answered awkwardly, "but don't you… have some sort of premiere or late-night talk show or party of your own to attend?"

"We just have The Daily Show today," Rose said as she scrambled for her phone to confirm their appointments. "But we've already taped that. So we're effectively free."

"Well if that is the case," Matthew said, "of course you are welcome to join us. But I must warn you, it probably won't be the kind of party you're used to."

"I will do my best to lower my expectations," Mary answered coyly.

**A/N:** This is my first modern A/U MM story and I'm still trying to figure out their dynamic. How do you take them out of their historical context and place them in the modern world and still have them be Mary and Matthew at their core when so much of what makes them who they are have changed? That said, I tried to find analogues to their original dynamic, their class difference, their original hostility, and even some of their life experiences. I'm not sure if I've pulled it off completely but I hope you enjoy it anyways.


	2. Chapter 2

_II_

It didn't have to be perfect but he would've preferred it if it could be helped. He wiped clean every wine glass and inspected it against the light of the candles, making sure no discolouration, residue, or fingerprints were left on their surfaces. He had been described as obsessive compulsive many times before by friends and past co-workers alike, certainly his meticulousness can be interpreted that way. But in the end, a messy and inexact table arrangement bothered him little. He just had his own way and he was not embarrassed by his preferences.

In fact, his fastidiousness was anything but an inherent quality of his character, rather it was learned in his many years in medical school. His lack of organization and focus had cost him a couple of wasted semesters. If those hard lessons and trying times had turned him into something of a clockwork robot, he didn't mind. He reasoned, it must have been better than the alternative.

This was the first time that, Matthew Crawley, man of many (or perhaps just one) mysteries, had opened his home for a purely social gathering in over a year. And he wanted it to be done right. He had made a few Persian dishes and a chocolate truffle cake for dessert. He had carefully selected the wines, the right set of cutlery, the appropriate napkins, all of which he had retained from a much happier time in his life.

He lived in a modest condominium unit in the heart of the city. Certainly, the rent for the place was not cheap, but it was still well below his means, given his new job. But space, luxury, and comfort were not defined by price tags for Matthew. No, there were times in his life when money was short and the pleasures of life had to come from elsewhere and his need for order and good design forced him to think outside of convention.

It was around seven o'clock when the first of his guest began to arrive. First, arrived John Bates and his wife Anna, as per their custom. John and Matthew had met while Matthew was working with Doctors Without Borders several years ago. John was a private military contractor who had served in Iraq and Yemen. John's company had offered some pro bono services to DWB while their outfit were under federal investigation. It was good PR. Their encounter in Somalia was brief, but Matthew and John quickly formed a deep friendship as Matthew, against advice, had saved John's leg from amputation following a raid turned siege by one of the local militias. It was during that time that John met his future wife, who had been working as a nurse. In a way, Matthew had indirectly introduced them.

"How are you?" John asked as he shook Matthew's hand.

"How's the leg?" Matthew asked back with a devilish smile on his face.

"You want me to thank you every time?" John remarked sarcastically.

Matthew jovially patted John on the back as he made his way in.

"Keeping him out of trouble?" Matthew asked Anna as they both watched as John settled himself into one of the Eames chairs in the living room.

"Yes doctor," Anna answered with a hint of playful tease in her voice.

"Not a doctor anymore," Matthew replied with a signature melancholy smile.

Anna patted him on the shoulder comfortingly before making her way into the living room and taking a seat next to her husband.

"Would you took like something to drink?" Matthew asked as he made his way into the kitchen.

"Whatever you have already uncorked," John answered.

"No thanks, I'm driving tonight," Anna said.

Matthew circled around the divide between the kitchen and living room, made his way past his immaculate dinner table, and handed drinks to both of them.

"Mascarello, 2005," Matthew said as he handed the glass to John.

"And ginger ale, for the designated," Matthew said with a smirk while handing the second drink to Anna.

"Going Italian these days?" John said as he took a swig. "It's good."

"Thought I'd switch things up," Matthew said. "I mean, that's the advice you've all been giving me, right?"

"I love what you've done with the place," Anna remarked as she leisurely made her way around the living room looking at the photographs on the walls. "It was rather... sparse before."

"It wasn't easy, I'll admit. It's mostly my own work at the moment," Matthew said as he looked around, "this was always more Lavinia's place than it was mine."

An uneasy silence befell the three of them as that heavy name was introduced.

"So, who's coming tonight?" John asked as he took a swig of his wine.

"The usual," Matthew answered cryptically.

"And who might those be?" John asked, "You don't exactly have usual visitors."

"Rose is coming," Matthew said.

"You don't exactly have any usual visitors other than her," John amended his previous comment. "And isn't she busy with her new job?"

"She's bringing a friend," Matthew commented, "Tom is coming, Madeleine as well."

"Is she the mark?" Anna asked with a devious flare in her voice.

"What? No, there is no mark," Matthew replied, "you know when I hooked you two up, I was hoping you'd clean him up a bit, not have his dirty soldier mouth rub off on you."

"You didn't hook us up," Anna said as she leaned over and kissed John on the cheek.

"That's right," John agreed with his wife, "we found each other. Despite your many repeated attempts, you don't get to take credit for our love, Dr. Crawley."

Matthew rolled his eyes in dismissal just as there was another knock on the door. Matthew made his way over to the door and opened it. Tom Branson rushed in, shoved a bottle of whiskey into Matthew's possession, gave him a hug, and whispered "well done" into his ear. Slightly confused as to what he meant, it wasn't until Madeleine showed up appeared next at the door, did he understand the covert whisper. She was wearing in a rather form fitting white cocktail dress with matching white heels. Matthew may not exactly have been receptive to her advances in the past, but even he had to admit that she was quite stunning in that moment.

"Hello, Matthew," she said warmly.

"Hello, Madeleine," Matthew said as he received a kiss on the cheek from the girl as she made her way in.

Matthew poured drinks for everyone as they got settled into his living room. From the kitchen he observed his guests. These were his friends. The thought gave him pause for a moment. But in the best sort of way. He had been trapped by her memory for so long, and they were respectful and gave him time, but when time had run its course and his condition didn't get any better, they made an effort to drag him from his self-imposed exile and force him back into the world. It was not a pleasant process but in the end, he supposed, he was thankful for their encouragement.

But it did come at a price. He had to get a job. And he wasn't allowed to return to his old job either. Tom wouldn't let him. Matthew knew that it was for the best that he didn't return with Tom to Tibet, or Afghanistan, or Syria, or wherever he went these days, but he did miss it. But of course, all men of his type grow to miss that sort of work once it had been ingrained into his memory and the character of his person. Everything else felt like a dream after the rush and panic of the last several years.

"Do you need some help with that?" Madeleine's voice came from behind, snapping him out of his musings.

"No, but you can have one," Matthew replied as he flashed a polite smile.

Madeleine picked up a glass from the kitchen counter and took a sip before leaning against it and shuffling in closer to Matthew. She wasn't exactly subtle and this was wasn't the first time that Madeleine had tried this trick. Matthew wasn't so easily intimidated, even when he was cornered. However, in the end, Matthew believed that she meant well, even if her tactics were a little on the blunt side. Had she taken him a little more seriously in college and had he not met Lavinia in the intervening time, perhaps they could've had something. Matthew didn't think they were at all incompatible but it always seemed that circumstance and life, for one reason or another, made that dream impossible.

He wasn't that bumbling pre-med student anymore and she wasn't the girl he used to idolized.

"How are you doing?" she asked, affecting her most most concerned voice she could. It wasn't fake, it was just a little too obvious.

"I'm doing well," Matthew replied politely.

"I wish I could believe you," Madeleine replied as she took another sip of her wine.

"Yes, you and everyone else," Matthew replied with a crooked smile.

"They all care about you," Madeleine said. "You know that right?"

Matthew nodded admittedly.

"I know… this isn't the right time for you," Madeleine said as her shoulders slumped and her gaze dropped down towards her wine, "not that there was ever a right time… for us. I do want you to be happy and it hurts me to see you like this."

"I can't pretend like everything's alright," Matthew replied, "just because you want me to. It's what drove Lavinia away in the first place."

"No, I know," Madeleine said understandingly, "I'm not asking you to pretend or to fake it. Just… just a part of me wished I could fix you. I know it's stupid."

"I think we already had our chance," Matthew said with a conciliatory smile.

"And I was too drunk and loud to notice," Madeleine added with a hint of longing and melancholy in her voice.

"We all made mistakes back then," Matthew said.

"Do you ever think that Lavinia was a mistake?" she asked.

"If you're asking if I ever wondered what it could've been like for us… I thought about it all the time," Matthew answered.

"And?"

"And… I had a vivid imagination," Matthew replied coyly.

Matthew and Madeleine made their way from the kitchen to the living room with drinks in hand. He passed a glass of wine to Tom before giving him a _just try it_ look.

Tom hesitantly took a sip before saying, "alright, it's not bad."

"So, maybe we can teach an old dog, new tricks," Matthew teased.

"So we should hope," Tom replied with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't forget, _you_ forced me to retire," Matthew shot back.

"Wouldn't you rather be taking pictures of pretty ladies in a nice airconditioned studio than spending six months at a time in some ditch somewhere outside of Gaza?"

"I know it may be hard to believe, but I rather liked the photos I took there," Matthew said as he leaned forward.

"You'll learn to like the photos you're taking now," Tom said dismissively.

"It's not quite the same," Matthew said as he gently shook his head.

"Is there any difference between Anne Hathaway and Abu Basir?" Tom asked rhetorically.

"I'm surprised you know who Anne Hathaway is." Matthew returned.

"You make me sound like such an uncultured troglodyte." Tom's eyes narrowed and shot disdain Matthew's way. "I write for the New York Times for Christ's sake."

"You're a war correspondent and a natsec wonk," Matthew retorted. "Not to mention a functioning alcoholic and an adrenaline junkie."

Tom did a double take, he couldn't decide if Matthew had just insulted him or merely described him. But of course, that had always been his forte.

"He's just bitter," Tom said as he looked at Madeleine. "He's just bitter that I made him give it up."

"Alright, that's enough you too," Madeleine replied with a giggle.

Madeleine couldn't help but laugh. There was something magnificent about the way they sparred. At once they were trying to outwit each other in the fashion of writers of their stripe always did, but within that was a schoolyard streak of juvenile pettiness that could not go unnoticed. It was hard to tell whether they were Hemingway and Fitzgerald, or Itchy and Scratchy.

"So, where's Rose?" Tom asked as he pivoted subjects.

"She'll be here," Matthew replied.

"Late as usual, I see," Tom replied with a derisive smirk.

"Oh come on, it's a party, she's barely late, and she's bringing a friend," Matthew said in her defense.

"Oh god, not another one," Tom said as his smirk grew ever more self-satisfied. "What is it this time? Another hostess? Yoga instructor? Friend from a pole dancing class?"

"Her boss," Matthew interrupted.

Suddenly all of the little side conversations died down and their collective attention focused on Matthew. They seemed surprised. Tom seemed utterly shocked.

"Her boss?" Tom asked incredulously, "I didn't realize she was working."

"Shrimpie's getting old, he knows that. He needed Rose to get serious. He said he would cut her off if she didn't get a job," Matthew explained.

"And what is this job that a 20 year old, college dropout, trust fund baby could get that would satisfy her old man?" Tom asked with a hearty chuckle.

"Well, one step at a time," Matthew said apologetically.

"So, who's she working for?" Tom asked, shifting his tone from derisive condescension to genuine curiosity.

And as if they conjured her, simply by mentioning her too many times, there was a timely knock on the door. Matthew rushed over to the door with a little more enthusiasm than he had originally intentioned. He supposed that he was more excited to see _her_ again than he was willing to admit.

But why should he feel embarrassed or even be the least bit reluctant to admit that? She was a famous actress and a drop dead beauty in the way that he liked best. She wasn't showy or loud. Her beauty came from her natural grace and the effortlessness of her allure. Of course, Matthew recognized that much of her appeal was due, in large part, to her fame and the fact that she was a presence within his mind long before they had ever met in person. One cannot escape that kind of thing without living as a hermit in the modern world. But beyond all of that, despite all of that, she was just so unflinchingly beautiful. And what exactly was so embarrassing about the fact that his rational senses, his self-confidence, and his professional acumen, had momentarily been tripped up by the presence of a movie star?

He opened the door and not a moment later, Rose strode him and gave him a big friendly hug. She was dressed to the nines, as per usual, in her signature sequin look, a tad too much makeup and heels that made her a half foot taller, which always threw off Matthew as he was so used to looking at her from a certain angle.

"Hello, Matthew," Rose said in her usual cheerful voice. "Sorry, we're late."

"Oh, so you brought Mary along after all," Matthew said with a mixture of surprise and delight in his voice.

"Why, wouldn't I?" a voice came from behind Rose. "I said I'd come, didn't I?"

Matthew looked up and there she was, dressed in an elegant beige evening dress and a navy blue blazer. She stared into his eyes, intractably, as if picking up just where they had left off earlier in the day. His mood had softened, especially in regards to her. But perhaps, hers did not.

**A/N:** There you have it, a little bit about Matthew. I realize that he was quite the enigma in the previous chapter but it was mainly from Mary's perspective and Mary actually didn't know anything about him, so her mystery was your mystery. So apparently I've become something of a known quantity now, so let me just take this opportunity to thank those of you who are trying to keep my honest, The Collected Letters is not ending or on hiatus, I just needed to write something else for a while. The holidays are coming up which means I'm consuming a lot more content (obligatory Oscar-bait movies that my friends all want to see, catching up on actually good movies that I missed in the last few months, on a Neil LaBute kick right now, hence the infamous Lavinia chapter in The Collected Letters, nonstop Far Cry 4, that new Taylor Swift album I can't seem to stop listening to), and while I have a rule that I never write myself in as a character in any of my stories, I can't promise that the content I'm consuming right now might not influence or seep in, because there's just a lot of new ideas and concepts coming my way at this moment.

As for what this story is, if you are getting the sense that nothing is happening in this story, you would be right. Nothing is really going to happen, I mean there will be a plot but it is rather circumstantial compared to the character interactions (mainly MM). It's probably just going to be a series of conversations and some sexy business. So no, this isn't The Collected Letters in modern times. And their relationship will develop much faster in this story. It's not an anthology of oneshots, there will be a definite through-line, but plot doesn't drive this story. Sorry, for those expecting an analogue of their classic Downton romance. It doesn't quite work in the modern world. And yes, the character relationships are not quite the same as they are in the canon. As in Anna isn't Mary's lady's maid anymore because no one has a lady's maid anymore. Also some characters are American. I wish they weren't but unfortunately, I'm from the Yankee side of the Atlantic and I'm not comfortable faking British in modern times. But if it makes you feel any better, Tom is still Irish and Bates is still English.

Alright, enough rambling, what is this? A DVD commentary track? As always I appreciate every review, follow, and favourite. Seeing how you guys react and respond is pretty much all of the fun.


	3. Chapter 3

_III_

It wasn't that he hadn't encountered fame before. It wasn't exactly that he was simply starstruck, although, he guessed that his friends might've been, given silence at the moment. It wasn't even that he was nervous. He had met Ban Ki-Moon, Michael Bloomberg, Annie Leibovitz, and even on one tense occasion, Abu Mohammad al-Julani. But this was something else. This felt different.

She was in his home.

There was something utterly surreal about the fact that this woman, whom he had seen on television numerous times, this ephemeral being that blinked in and out of his mind's eye as quickly and as fleetingly as toothpaste advertisements or the latest catchy pop song he heard while in line at Starbucks, was standing there in his foyer. What's more, she was staring right at him.

He definitely wasn't used to that. At best he, once or twice, caught her staring at him directly during their photoshoot earlier in the afternoon. But that was work and there was an infinite distance between their eyes as the lens and the viewfinder acted, as it always had, as protection; a stopgap, obscuring all emotion and visibility on his end.

"Can I take your coat?" Matthew instinctively said as he feared that their silence had gone on too long and that she was winning their staring contest.

"Oh, of course, thank you," Mary said she slid her blazer off of her shoulders and handed to Matthew.

Matthew promptly opened his closet, found a spare hanger, and put her coat away.

"Well..." Rose said tentatively as he awkwardly backed away from his closet and turned to face his guests once again. "Don't be rude, Matthew."

"Oh yes, of course," Matthew said anxiously as he clasped his hands together. "Mary, this is John Bates and his wife Anna. Madeleine Allsop and Tom Branson. And everyone this is Mary Crawley. You may have seen her face here and there from time to time."

Everyone instinctively chuckled at Matthew's weak, though not entirely unfunny, joke.

"And what about me?" Rose said in a tone of faux-indignation.

"Everyone already knows you," Matthew replied plainly. "But if you wish… everyone, this is the lovely and ineffable Rose McClare."

As soon as they had finished with the polite, if not a little stodgy, introductions, they made their way from the living room to the dinner table where Matthew had prepared for his guests, a magnificent feast. Or at least that's what he thought of it. Matthew and Mary sat at opposite ends of the long rectangular glass table, with John, Anna, and Rose on one side and Madeleine and Tom on the other.

"Please, help yourselves," Matthew said welcomingly to all of his guests.

"Wait!" Tom interjected as held up his hands.

Naturally, everyone stopped what they were doing and focused on Tom. He reached over the divide to the other side of the kitchen and fetched the whiskey that he had brought for Matthew and opened it up.

"Oh, come on, Tom. Right now?" Matthew said disapprovingly.

"Madeleine, be a dear, and go fetch some shot glasses," Tom said sweetly to Madeleine.

"Just to be clear," Matthew announced to the table, "no one is obligated to participate in this."

"Everyone is obligated to participate in this," Tom countered as Madeleine returned with the shot glasses. "After one year and two months in limbo, our Matthew has returned to the land of the living. He… or she, who does not partake in this joyous moment can… well… I hope you burn in hell."

"Okay!" Matthew said with heavy drawn out emphasis. "The eloquence and poetry of Pulitzer finalist, Tom Branson, everyone."

Tom poured seven shots and distributed them among those at the table. Once they all had their poison in hand, Tom counted down from three before slamming his hand on the table and shouting "bottoms up!" commanding everyone to drink. Matthew downed his quick without any trouble. It was merely one shot of a rather fine tasting whiskey. Besides, he and Tom had spent years pounding back cheaper and nastier stuff, all over the world. John, too, could hold his own when it came to the hard stuff. What respectable soldiers couldn't? But regardless of how immune to its effects Tom was, he still made the face just for fun.

Matthew had downed his shot particularly quickly so he could catch the reaction of the woman sitting across from him. Alright, he was curious about her. He could at least admit that much. It wasn't everyday that he got a chance to witness the famous Mary Crawley in such a unprepared and intimate state. Predictably, yet still very much satisfyingly, her scrunched up face was adorable. It was as if her public persona had been so practiced and so refined that it was second nature to her, so that even in unexpected circumstances and new situations, she automatically knew how she _should_ react.

And it was an act, he was sure.

_No one that's cute when taking a shot_, he thought to himself.

"You know, when you say it like that, it makes it sound like Pulitzer loser," Tom said after a lengthy fit of gyrating and head shaking.

"Good, because that's precisely what I meant," Matthew replied wryly.

"Alright, that's enough of this." Rose interrupted, "Is it not enough that you do this every single fucking time we hang out, must we do this in front of Mary?"

"Oh, no," Mary said meekly, "I'm finding all of this absolutely fascinating."

"Are we allowed to call you, Mary?" Tom asked as he shot his glance in her direction.

"I don't see why not, it is my name afterall," she replied plainly.

"We don't have to call you Miss Crawley or something rather?" Tom asked.

"Wouldn't you mistake me for being his wife?" Mary said as she pointed at Matthew.

That comment seemed to catch Tom a little off guard. Matthew hadn't told Tom any of the specifics of his job yet. But Tom wasn't stupid, despite how he acted sometimes, and quickly put two and two together.

"Well, I wasn't going to bring it up," Tom said as he threw his hands in the air as if to proclaim his innocence.

"Yes you were," Matthew interjected.

"Yes, I was," Tom parroted back in quick succession. "But I was waiting for the right moment."

"I'm sorry to have stolen your thunder," Mary said deviously.

"Oh, it wouldn't be the first time," Tom said as he wagged his finger in her face.

"Excuse me?" Mary asked, shocked and slightly amused by the charismatic Irishmen's insinuation.

"Please Tom, let's not get into this right now," Matthew said, cutting into their little exchange. "Can we eat before we start ripping each other's heads off?"

"No, no, I want to hear this," Mary said loudly and obstinately.

"I don't understand why you're so calm about this," Tom said as he turned to Matthew, "it affected you more than it affected me."

Mary shot Matthew look of intense intrigue. Her eyes seem to flutter with the candlelight and for a moment he was completely transfixed by her gaze; pulling him into her indescribable aura.

"You could've won the International with that photo," Tom added.

"Alright, now you're just making me feel bad. What is this all about?" Mary pushed.

"Nothing, he works at The New York Times now. How terribly things turned out for you," Matthew said summoning up a few sharp daggers of sarcasm, as he looked at Tom.

"A fate worse than hell itself," Tom returned airily.

"Come on guys," Mary persisted. "I feel like you're deliberately talking around me now."

Matthew exhaled and leaned back in his chair. "2011, Tahrir Square, Hosni Mubarak's final days in power. Tom wrote a hell of a great piece on course of events that led up to the revolution, the historical context for the modern nation-state, what it would mean for the future of the Egyptian people, what it would mean for Washington, the implications for the rest of the Arab world, for the Saudis, in short, it was a tour de force."

"Thank you," Tom said triumphantly poured himself another shot and downed it quick.

"I took the accompanying photos. It was probably my finest work. The Guardian ran it," Matthew said as neutrally as he could, although not without some hints of ire seeping through, "it was doing great. I honestly thought it was the best coverage of the revolution from anyone since. But 20 minutes, 20 minutes after the story ran, your sideboob showed up on The Guardian after you stepped out of some London nightclub or whatever, and that was it for us..."

Silence fell upon the table. Despite her best efforts, Mary looked utterly stunned. Of course, he didn't want to bring this up. But Tom, true to form, felt like he needed to start this party in spectacular fashion. Matthew simply stared down at his plate, feeling unable or unwilling to meet the gaze of the woman sitting across from him. She must've felt awful. But it wasn't her fault. She didn't ask for the photos to be taken. In fact, if he were to take a guess, she probably would've preferred to not have it happened at all.

"Look, I don't mean to make you feel bad," Matthew said as he desperately tried break the dower mood that had befallen the table, "it wasn't your fault that some paparazzo snuck up on you. Not blaming you or anything. But you asked, that's what happened."

He finally managed to look up at her, the expression on her face make him feel terrible. _Matthew, you idiot_, he thought to himself. What was the point of all of that?

"Anyways, the past is the past, let's eat," Matthew said as cheerfully as they could.

Despite, the little hiccup due to Tom's mischievous instigation, dinner was a pleasant affair. Rose popped her phone into Matthew's sound system and started blasting her energetic dance pop/indie rock/dubstep mix to lighten the mood. And it certainly did its job, after Matthew turned it down several notches. As expected, the girls, including Tom (for whatever reason), monopolized Mary's attention, asking her the usual questions that people had about fame and fortune. Which other celebrities had she met? Was she friends with any of them? What was Benedict Cumberbatch like in person? What are she working on next?

Matthew didn't try to jump into the conversation. He just didn't know how to keep up with those kinds of topics. Of course, he had his preferences and opinions on pop culture and the like, but the gossip column-y stuff was a little out of his wheelhouse and he felt uncomfortable asking his friends about their personal lives and inner feelings, let alone this complete stranger. But for whatever reason, and there had to be one other than the obvious, he couldn't keep his eyes off of her. A few times he had caught himself staring, a few others, she had actually caught him when she broke from her conversation with Anna or Madeleine to take a sip of wine.

"How was the first day at work?" John said to Matthew, drawing his attention away from Mary.

"It's different, I'll say that much," Matthew replied as he took a sip of his wine and continued on his food.

"It gets easier," John replied understandingly.

"Do you still miss it?" Matthew asked.

"You'll start missing it less and less," John said with a nod. "You just have to… let it happen. Let this world, however paper thin, however inconsequential and dreamlike it may seem, suck you back in. It'll take a while and you'll fight it at first."

"It just feels so meaningless," Matthew said.

"Hey, I'm sitting right here," Rose said as he cut into their conversation.

Rose sat between John and Matthew and since they had just spent the afternoon working on Mary's photoshoot, she was understandably irate about the way they were talking about the job.

"I'm sorry Rose," Matthew said with a sheepish smile. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"Daddy had to pull a lot of strings to get you that job," Rose added.

"Oh, you mean like how he had to pull a lot of strings to get you your job?" Matthew asked cheekily.

"At least I'm trying," Rose said as she stuck out her tongue at Matthew.

"Why don't you just switch seats with John and try to get in the conversation with Mary over there?" Matthew asked teasingly.

"I talk to her enough at work," Rose said. "By the way, this is delicious."

"Yes, this was delightful," Mary's voice cut in front the other side of the table.

_Had she been listening the whole time?_

"Did you make all of this?" Mary asked as she took another bite.

Matthew simply nodded.

"Didn't realize you were a man of so many talents," Mary said in her quizzical, if not entirely combative, voice.

"Oh yes," John cut in, "Matthew was our principle cook during our time in Somalia."

"Somalia?" Mary asked with much curiosity in her voice. "I'm sorry, I know your names but I have no idea how you all know each other."

"This web of infinite complexities," Tom said as he leaned back into his chair and stretched, "Matthew, will you do the honours?"

Matthew sighed and sat up straight. "Alright, I guess I'll go in chronological order. I know Madeleine from college. She was a sociology major and I was pre-med."

"Pre-med?" Mary cut in once again, her surprise and curiosity, no less diminished this time.

"Dr. Crawley saved my life," John added cheekily, knowing that Matthew, given the opportunity, probably would have just glanced over that portion of his story.

"Really?" Mary said as her gaze shot back to Matthew.

"He's exaggerating," Matthew said with a dismissive tone. "I saved his leg. And _yes_, I was a doctor. Which leads me to John, Anna, and Rose. John is former Special Boat Service. Served your country well. Anna was with us in Somalia, and nursed him back to health after he was injured. Very romantic. And Rose was… sixteen? On one of those dumb volunteer trips that rich white kids go on to 'experience the world' or to 'find themselves', isn't that right Rose?"

Rose merely replied with a scowl.

"Anyways, she was lucky enough to experience a local uprising and John was working as a contractor at the time, without going into much detail, one thing led to another, John got shot in the leg, Rose learned what a tourniquet was and somehow, we all survived the siege and became friends," Matthew said. "Oh and I met Tom while covering Hamas in 2008."

"Gee, thanks for making me such an integral part of your life story," Tom added sarcastically. "I feel very cherished."

"So, chef, doctor, and photographer?" Mary said as she leaned forward with great interest. "Quite the polymath. So tell me, what's all this about you coming back to the land of the living?"

Silence befell them once again. Suddenly everyone around the table looked nervously away from Matthew. What was it this time? How many times could she embarrass herself in one evening? Curiously, while the others, even Tom wore a morbid look of discomfort about their faces, Matthew's was rather serene. He stared directly at her, as if specifically to hold her gaze, as if daring her to look away. He seemed determined, far more determined to engage her than he had been all night and certainly more so than he had been in the afternoon during their photoshoot.

"A year ago, I got divorced," Matthew said.

* * *

><p>Mary took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Her nerves had finally calmed down to a point where she could be trusted to be her natural (or practiced) graceful self again. She had been stuck in the bathroom for the last 20 minutes. No one seemed to notice and she was grateful for that. After the awkwardness she had incited during dinner, she felt it best if she excused herself afterwards for a few moments to collect composure and her manners.<p>

_Where had all those prodding questions come from?_ Mary thought to herself.

Why did he continually push Matthew, a man she barely knew? Perhaps, his defensiveness and secrecy bothered her. Perhaps his constant deflections and dismissals annoyed her. And while all of that was true, it was no reason to push the man like so harshly. Afterall, he was kind enough to invite her into his home. And for all of that, she repaid his kindness with juvenile insolence.

She sat on the toilet seat for a while longer, not quite ready to face him and his friends again. Across from her on a little bookshelf was several old hardcover books and a kindle. Cameau, Pynchon, Heller, Vonnegut. _Of course._ His bathroom was clean, almost too clean. Not clean in the way that most people cleaned before company, clean in the way that bathrooms in IKEA catalogues looked, almost as if Matthew didn't actually live there at all.

Making her way out of the bathroom and back into the living room, she found that everyone had settled down back onto the couches in the living room. Mary wasn't quite up for joining them again, at least not yet. She noticed that Matthew wasn't with them, neither was Rose. As the initial discomfort and embarrassment subsided, she began to feel rather guilty about the confrontational way that she had verbally assaulted him during dinner. She realized that she had taken her initial annoyance with his nonchalance during their photoshoot and carried it with her into the party. By the time they had arrived, that initial annoyance had grown and festered into a subtle but lively contempt. And that wasn't fair, especially considering what they were supposed to be celebrating.

Mary made her way into the kitchen and rummaged through his cabinets. She found some plates and forks, took two of each, went over to the dining room table, and sliced two pieces of the chocolate truffle cake from dessert. Sure, he made it and he had already had some and this little peace offering she had planned in her head was hardly adequate, but she nonetheless, she wanted to make a gesture.

But something was still missing. She made her way back into the kitchen and opened his fridge. It was immaculate. _Of course._ But there it was, exactly what she was looking for, two bottles of Stella Artois, it would go perfect with the cakes.

It was lucky as Mary approached the living room, still unable to find Matthew, that the sliding glass door to the balcony was opened. In strode Rose. Upon seeing Mary, carrying the cakes, she immediately grabbed one of the plates out of Mary's hand.

"Oh, delicious! Thanks Mary!" Rose said.

"But-" Mary was about to say before she was cut off.

"Hey, don't tell your dad I let you smoke," Matthew's voice came from the balcony.

"Please, Matthew, you don't have to treat me like a child," Rose said as she stuck out her tongue at him.

"Tom, can you go through her purse for me?" Matthew asked as he peeked in from the balcony, "I don't want her doing blow in my bathroom."

"One time! One time you caught me doing that!" Rose said as she rolled her eyes and took a bite of her cake.

Mary watched Tom as he grabbed Rose's purse and quickly searched through its contents.

"She's clean," Tom announced, "for once..."

"What did I tell you?" Rose said in a vindicated superior tone.

After that odd series of events, Mary made her way out onto the balcony. Immediately she could feel the chilly air against her shoulders and her face. It wasn't unbearable but it was noticeably colder outside. She found him, cast against the nocturnal lights of the city, leaning on the glass railings, staring absently into the New York skyline. Was it just the lights and the sounds of the city playing tricks on her or was he actually that handsome?

"Umm… hi," Mary said meekly.

"Oh hi," Matthew said in a friendly tone as he turned to face her. "Oh and that thing about Rose, I was just kidding. She's a good kid."

"No, I know," Mary said understandingly. "It's not a crime to be young. As long as it doesn't get out of hand."

"Rose likes to party," Matthew said tentatively, "but you don't have to worry. Please, don't fire her."

Mary giggled. "I won't. You have my word."

There was a moment of silence between them. More than each would like to admit, even to themselves, there was something strangely serene about just staring at each other. There was, at once, a sense of exhilaration, unexplained and palpable, and a deep sense of comfort, equally inexplicable and just as powerful.

"I brought you this," Mary said as she snapped herself out of the trance of the stare, lest it go on for too long.

"Cake," Matthew said pleasantly.

"Yes, cake," Mary said with a crooked smile, "I feel like I owe you an apology."

**A/N:** The fact that Matthew was a doctor was from a way earlier draft of this story before I changed his profession. I wrote chapter 2 before I wrote chapter 1 but since I already had the whole backstory of Matthew, Tom, Rose, Anna, Bates, and Madeleine worked out, I didn't want to completely unravel it just to fit Matthew's new job in. Plus, it's modern, people go through these kinds of career changes these days. I'm trying very hard not to Gary Stu him. I hate characters like that. Although Mary may actually be a bit of a Mary Sue (it's already in her name). But I'm trying very hard to humanize them as much as possible because that's the stuff I'm interested in anyways. But what did I tell you? This story is nothing but a series of conversations people have lol.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **It's just one long conversation.

_IV_

The silence that settled between them continued for several more moments unbroken. Neither exactly knew how to proceed in this situation. There was something between them that made things a little more tense than it should've been. Mary had been trying to dismiss it as mere guilt. Matthew had tried to explain it away as the inescapable effects of fame. But both knew, deep down that something else was happening, something beyond their control.

How did he end up in this situation? How was it that he had spent a year trapped in the prison of Lavinia's memory only to be set utterly and completely free by this most perfect and enchanting of strangers? Matthew didn't think of himself as particularly susceptible to the charms of most beautiful women. At least not like this easily and certainly not this quickly.

The evening wind whistled through the night sky, accompanying the chorus of car horns and sirens that was the tune of every evening in the city. The sun had long since set and in its place was a tapestry of urban stars, little points in the distance, each representing their own little story, their own unique moments, to which they themselves were merely contributed one tiny infinitesimal, but not unimportant, part.

Her hair fluttered in the wind like it did in the movies, perfect and enchanting. Her eyes beamed at him in that way that was deliberately meant to make men melt. All this he recognized, all this he saw right through. But somehow it didn't matter. Somehow, she had slipped right past his defenses. Somehow, he was softening to her. Somehow, he was taken by her.

And that just couldn't happen. It was too soon. The wound was still too fresh. And he certainly didn't want it with her. Her, this angelic stranger, that seemed to step through his TV screen into his life, so suddenly and so abruptly, that he had no way of processing it all.

"That's my cake," Matthew said in a slightly befuddled voice.

"Yes, I know," Mary said as she rolled her eyes, slightly glad that he had finally said something, breaking them out of their dangerous moment, "and I found these beers in your fridge. I know this isn't much of an apology. But I'm trying to make an effort."

Matthew finally relaxed and smiled. _If this was a trick, it was working_, Matthew thought to himself.

"You're right, I'm sorry," Matthew said warmly. "I know I can come off a little defensive, a little bit cold. I assure you, I'm not like this most of the time."

"And when is _most of the time_?" Mary asked playfully.

Matthew couldn't help but chuckle. "Alright, you got me. I confess, I haven't been the most amiable person to be around for the last few of years. But I, too, am making an effort."

"I know," Mary said in a conciliatory fashion, "and, despite my earlier rudeness, I am grateful that you invited me into your home. Truly."

"Of course, think nothing of it. Would you like to sit?" Matthew asked as he held out his hand towards the two chairs and a circular glass table he had out on his balcony, flanked on each side by modernist firepits.

"Yes, please," Mary answered.

They sat down at the table as Mary placed the cake directly in the center of the table and meekly looked up at him.

"I brought two slices…" Mary said awkwardly.

"But Rose got to the other one," Matthew said with a grin, completing her thought.

"Precisely," Mary replied with a giggle.

She put the two Stellas she had in her other hand on the table and slid one of them towards Matthew.

"However, I did bring two of these," Mary said excitedly, "and luckily, Rose didn't notice."

"That's okay, Rose doesn't drink beer," Matthew said as he unwrapped the white paper seal that covered the top of Stella bottles, before putting the edge of the bottle cap against the corner of the firepit and taking popping it off.

Mary watched intently as he did so. She had forgotten that Stella Artois did not have twist-off caps. She unwrapped the white paper seal and mimicked Matthew's method of opening the bottle. To his surprise, she managed to do it without breaking the glass. She glared at him as she took a long swig out of the bottle.

"Impressive," Matthew remarked.

"I'm a quick study," Mary said as she put the bottle down on the table.

"So, I can see," Matthew said.

Mary reached in towards the cake and picked up the single fork and held it up. "Split this with me?"

He has still suspicious. As much as her charm and her sudden friendliness was winning him over, he was still unsure of her. Why the sudden turn?

"What's your game?" Matthew asked.

"What game?" Mary asked innocently.

"Why are you being so nice all of the sudden?" Matthew clarified.

Mary took a deep sigh and leaned back into her chair. She took another swig of her beer. "You think I'm such a bitch."

"No, I don't think that," Matthew said politely.

"Yes, you do," Mary persisted. "And you're not wrong. I have been acting like a bitch today. And I guess.. I'd just like you to know that I'm not always like that."

Still unable to read her, Matthew found himself without words.

"And to apologize for the whole sideboob incident, I guess," Mary added, although with a little more sarcasm this time.

Matthew smiled and shook his head a little before taking a sip from his own beer. "It's not your fault that the whole world wants to see them."

Mary's gaze nervously dropped into her lap as her shoulders shrugged at his comment. She wondered how her visibly red her cheeks were as she could feel herself blushing.

"Still," she said as her sarcasm softened gracefully into a tone of actual sincerity, "I'd hate for me to live up to the caricature of who I am that you've no doubt constructed in your mind from our interaction tonight."

"And why is that so important?" Matthew asked. "Why does my opinion matter?"

"You think your opinion doesn't matter?" Mary asked curiously.

Matthew paused for a moment and looked away.

"No, not particularly," he answered stoically.

"Isn't that kind of sad? A bit gloomy?" Mary remarked.

"Is it? Never thought about it that way," Matthew replied.

"At the risk of provoking your ire once more, can I ask… what happened?" Mary asked softly.

"What do you mean?" Matthew asked.

"Between you and your ex-wife," Mary clarified.

Matthew closed his eyes momentarily as if to strengthen his resolve. It surprised even him, that after all these months and all of the progress he had made in dealing with his divorce, simply talking about it, uttering the words out loud, still caused him the same amount of pain that it did that first fateful hour.

"You really want to hear this?" Matthew asked as his voice began to tremble.

"Is yes an inappropriate answer to that question?" Mary asked softly.

"No, it isn't. I just can't understand why," Matthew replied.

"Can't someone just take an interest?" Mary persisted as gently as possible.

"Seems unlikely," Matthew said.

"You're a very suspicious man," Mary said.

Matthew smiled and nodded.

"Yes, I suppose I am," Matthew said with a light chuckle, "A little bit closed off too, I'm sure you've noticed."

"Just a little bit," Mary teased.

"Tell you what," Matthew said as he sat up and straightened his posture, "I'll tell you about Lavinia if you tell me about Tony."

Mary's eyes widened at that last statement. She hadn't mentioned Tony to him at all. In fact, her mind had been a million miles away from him at that moment. If she was honest with herself, which admittedly wasn't often, she really didn't need the reminder of him. This party was a beautiful little escape from the rest of the complications in her life, Tony included. But she supposed that if she was going to prod him about Lavinia, he had every right to retaliate by asking about Tony.

"How did you know that?" Mary asked breathlessly.

"Who doesn't know?" Matthew replied with a crooked smile.

Mary returned his smile with one of her own. And in that moment she knew that he did know who she was, more than he let on.

"And you make it sound like you are so above the gossip and drama that follows and surrounds people like me," Mary said in an imperious voice.

"I… just did some research before our shoot," Matthew stammered as he was caught a little off guard.

"Research… sure," Mary replied knowingly.

Matthew was again at a loss for words and an awkward silence descended upon them once again.

"Alright, you got me," Matthew finally said, admitting defeat, "I know who you are, I know of your many exploits, I am aware and intimidated by your fame, your status, but most of all, your beauty. And I was really _really_ nervous about the shooting this morning. Hence, my subsequent demeanour. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Mary didn't immediately reply, which made Matthew even more uncomfortable. Did he say something offend her. His secrecy and his indifference had been his shield that whole evening. All that was gone now. Now, he was open to her judgement and her ridicule, completely and utterly. Which for some unknown reason meant, seemed to mean more to him now more than ever.

"No, not at all," Mary finally said in dismay, "I wasn't fishing for a compliment."

"Just an acknowledgement that I knew who you were," Matthew added.

"Maybe a little of that," Mary replied affecting a subtle smirk.

"Well there you have it," Matthew reiterated, "I know who you are and you can lord my previous, wholly constructed, and completely farcical indifference over me."

"Is that what you think of me?" Mary asked.

And yet again, Matthew had been caught completely off guard. He was expecting her to completely slaughter him over his recently revealed pretensions.

"Now who's being rude?" Mary added.

"You're right," Matthew said as he hung his head in shame. "That was rather petty of me."

"I forgive you," Mary said stoutly.

"Didn't sound like it," Matthew replied.

"I'm not sure you get to determine that right now," Mary retorted.

"What is this? What are we doing? Are we still arguing?" Matthew asked incredulously.

Mary took a moment to slow down and take a deep breath. "You're right, I'm sorry. I shouldn't push the issue now that you've already conceded. But if you don't want to talk about her, that's fine. I shouldn't push you anymore."

"What is there to say really?" Matthew said. "She left me. She was right to. I mean we all have to suffer the consequences of our actions."

"Did you cheat on her?" Mary asked.

"Nothing like that," Matthew answered dismissively as if to say, _I may be a bad guy but give me some credit_.

"Well then... I can I just say," Mary said slowly and deliberately, "I don't understand why any woman would leave you, a doctor… and or a photographer, an excellent cook. All my friends constantly tell me, _if I could just find a man that would cook for me…_"

"The cooking is a recent thing, at least my enthusiasm and aptitude for it," Matthew said, maintaining the self-derision in his voice.

"What do you mean?" Mary asked.

"Would you believe that I spent a lot of time in the past year doing nothing but watching YouTube instructional videos and dining alone?" Matthew asked as he finally turned to face her again.

If their interaction that whole night could be described as verbal-sparring, Matthew once again, quickly and quite unexpectedly, took the advantage.

"The thing about photographing warzones is that you never really leave," Matthew said as he relaxed into his chair. "Even when you're back Stateside, you're always there, you can't escape it and they don't teach you to put it away like they teach to soldiers. I mean, look at John, he's been and seen a lot more shit than I ever will, he's fine. He's well adjusted."

"You're not?" Mary asked incredulously.

"I definitely wasn't for the last few years," Matthew answered despondently as he took another swig of beer, "to say I was a mess is putting it lightly."

"And now?" Mary continued.

"Work in progress," Matthew said with a melancholic smile.

"And that's why she left?" Mary asked.

"In a sense," Matthew confirmed, "but who was she really leaving? I was never here, even when I was... I wasn't really. To be honest, I was long gone before she ever packed her bags."

"You're pretty hard on yourself," Mary commented.

"They say blame isn't really a useful concept when it comes to things like this, but I'd say it was pretty cut and dry," Matthew stated simply. "It's hard to sustain a marriage when one person is closed off completely."

"You seem to have a good understanding of your role in all of this," Mary commented. "Why did you anything to try to prevent her from leaving?"

"Hindsight is 20/20, I've had a lot of time to reflect," Matthew said as he absently took another sip of his beer. "A lot of time to think… But even if I did know then, I'm not sure if I would've changed."

"Well, I'm sorry to have pried into your business," Mary said with genuine remorse in her voice, "I really didn't mean to upset you."

"It's done now. Anyways… enough about my sorry ass," Matthew said understandingly. "Tell me about Tony."

_This again_, she was hoping that Matthew would have forgotten about that by now. It's what she was trying to do. How was she supposed to answer? Was she to give the usual prepared statement? Where they met; at the Hurlingham Polo International, how long have they been dating; a year and a half, what does he do; investment banker, first date; Coldplay concert, got to meet the band afterwards (she didn't even like Coldplay).

What's worse was that there was nothing really to talk about. They got along fine and he was quite respectable. Maybe their subdued courtship didn't exactly set the tabloids on fire but it was what she preferred for her public image anyways. He was handsome, rich, and supportive of her career; the kind of man she knew that she could build a life with. She didn't know if they were forever, she didn't even know if she was actually in love with him. But that didn't matter to her. He was what she was supposed to want. Besides, love was a concept she gave up on long ago.

"What's there to say?" Mary began unenthusiastically. "He's great, charming, loving, takes care of my dogs when I'm away filming."

"He's a lucky guy," Matthew said.

Mary couldn't help but smile when Matthew said that. She couldn't decide if he was making a pass at her or if he was just being polite. She didn't know him well enough to say for sure. Her gut told her that he didn't have the self-confidence to pull off a move like that. Not after what he had just revealed about his divorce and his feelings towards it. Still, even if he didn't mean it that way, it still, very much, made her happy, especially after their rocky start.

"He could stand to be a little more exciting, I guess," Mary added listlessly.

"If you ask me," Matthew said plainly, "excitement is overrated."

"Well, I'm not looking to get shot at by ISIS, if that's what you mean by excitement," Mary said with a laugh.

Matthew found himself with a stupid grin on his face, when she threw back his harrowing, but ultimately selfish and juvenile, adventures back in his face. She made him sound like an utterly ridiculous person. He was a ridiculous.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Matthew said as her derisive laughter caused him to blush a little.

"What is?" Mary asked.

"Him not being exciting, me being too exciting," Matthew said.

"Were you really that exciting or just an out of control prick?" Mary asked incredulously.

"Probably the latter," Matthew admitted with a hearty chuckle. Boy, she wasn't going to let him get away with anything.

"Things with him are good. As they should be," Mary said with a rather disinterested shrug of her shoulders.

"Well, when you say it like, you definitely have me convinced," Matthew said with a raised eyebrow.

"What am I supposed to say?" Mary asked in a playful yet defensive tone. "He's the love of my life, he makes my everyday just a little better, that I couldn't live without him?"

"It's a nice feeling," Matthew said apologetically.

"Well, I think people are a lot more complicated than that," Mary said.

"I'm not saying they're not," Matthew said as he played with the rim of his beer bottle, "but love isn't just some silly juvenile pastime, something you waste your 20's chasing, it's a real thing. And I think people dismiss it too easily these days."

"You think just because you hold out hope that she's gonna come back to you someday?" Mary sneered as she flashed him a skeptical look.

His eyes widened as he instinctively threw his hands up as a sign of capitulation. She knew that she could be mercurial at times and evidently, this was one of those times. Perhaps she should've warned him before hand.

"It's okay, I shouldn't be so hard on you," Mary said as she let out a remorseful sigh before taking another drink from her beer, "I think you've taken enough of my abuse for one night."

"Oh," Matthew said with a spark of hope, "are you planning a repeat performance?"

"Let's see how the photos turn out first, shall we?" Mary said, at once affecting a tentative and teasing tone.

Matthew anxiously nodded as he rub the back of his neck and once more turned his gaze into the lights of the city and the blackness of the night beyond.

"What?" Mary asked simply.

"Nothing, just nervous," Matthew said meekly.

"About the photos?" Mary asked.

"Yeah, actually," Matthew answered. "This is the first time I've seriously worked in a studio environment since med school. Who knows if I'm any good at this."

"I'm sure you're great," Mary replied comfortingly.

"You've changed your mind about me," Matthew replied with an awkward chuckle.

"No, I haven't," Mary responded. "I just hadn't made up my mind before."

"That's good to know," Matthew replied with a smile of relief.

"Can I be candid?" Mary asked after a moment's hesitation.

"Please," Matthew replied enthusiastically, "I'm feeling rather exposed right now."

"I'm not sure if I'm any good in this movie so the photos don't matter much anyways," Mary said meekly as her gaze dropped down into her lap.

"What makes you say that?" Matthew asked.

"Just a feeling," Mary said airily as she lifted her gaze once again, shrugged all of the tension from her shoulders, and forced a smile.

"There's usually more than that," Matthew pressed.

"I've been playing the same roles years. I feel… stuck, you know what that feels like?" Mary asked before realizing the implications of the question.

Matthew flashed her a knowing look but didn't chastise her.

"Of course you do," Mary said with a little bit of embarrassment. "That was a stupid thing to say."

"It wasn't stupid," Matthew said gently. "You don't have to… tread lightly around me. I'm not judging you. I'm sorry if I'm made you feel that I have."

"You were earlier," Mary said glibly as she took another swig of her beer, finishing it off.

"That was before," Matthew replied.

"Before what?" Mary asked.

"Before you asked if you could be candid," Matthew said slowly and deliberately. "You want me to listen. Then I'll listen. The first part of listening is not judging."

"Where'd you learn that?" Mary asked with an incredulous chuckle.

"Marriage counselling," Matthew answered seriously.

"Are you determined to make me feel bad?" Mary asked sarcastically.

"Alright, if you don't want to talk, I'm not going to push you," Matthew answered politely but with a hint of disappointment in his voice. "I think it is rather unfair for you to prod me all night, picking at every little detail of my life but not to share anything real about yourself."

"I'm scare I'm losing my career before it has even really begun!" Mary suddenly blurted out.

She kept doing that. She kept changing her rhythm, modulating her tone and her disposition. Matthew couldn't tell if she was doing it deliberately just to throw him off or if there was just something fundamentally unpredictable about her. One moment she was kind and encouraging, the next she was sarcastic and distant. He didn't realize until that very moment that the one thing she had never been this whole night, up until now, was forthcoming.

"I'm 28 years ago," Mary said as her voice began to tremble. "I've been playing the pretty girl ever since boys started staring at my bum. But how long can that last? At first, you're just excited to be working, making some money so that you can pay next month's rent. And then you start getting other offers, for more and more money and of course you take them. But somewhere down the line, you realized that years have passed and you've been on this ride for a long… _long time_. And where has it led me?"

"Money and fame?" Matthew said with a grin.

"Exactly," Mary said as she bursted into a fit giggling. "See I can't even complain about it without sounding like a complete ingrate."

"Yes, you can," Matthew said. "You just have to pick your moments."

"Did I just pick the right moment then?" Mary said as she looked over him stared deep into his eyes.

"Actually, I think I might've picked it for you by guilting you into spilling your guts," Matthew said as he looked away.

"No, it's fine," Mary said casually. "If I can dish it out, I should be able to take it."

"But your limited choices in rolls… the plight of most young actresses, isn't it?" Matthew remarked. "I heard that's quite common."

"Do you consider me... common?" Mary asked as she leaned back into her chair and stared back at him intently, waiting, expecting an answer.

His immediate impulse was to reply but when her gaze caught his, he stopped for a moment. She asking him and wanted an answer, but not quite yet. She was looking for something in his eyes, something far more revealing than anything he could've said.

"No, of course not," Matthew finally said in a manner of contemplative certainty.

"Nice save," Mary replied with a devious and knowing smile.

Mary looked away for a moment to hide the redness that she could feel upon her cheeks. But she couldn't, nor did she try to, hid her smile. She provoked him with that question and he answered just the way she wanted him to. Earlier, she said she wasn't fishing for compliments but now she wasn't so sure. Perhaps, all she did want was a few kind words from him just to know that the things she had been feeling, all this time, all these many years, feelings that she had never once said aloud, were okay to have. That somehow, she was allowed to want more than just mere success.

She felt comfortable with him. As if, behind his professional persona (which he still had to work on, if he was going to be shooting people and models all day long) and his carefully cultivated distance between him and all things, was a remarkable gentle and loving soul. And if he had been hurt deeply, she didn't blame him for being guarded. Afterall, she wasn't exactly an open book herself.

But felt something else at the moment as well. There was still something about that moment that she found difficult understand, still more difficult to control. She felt something. It was new, unexpected and unfamiliar.

"I thought you were quite good in Raindance," Matthew said, catching her attention once again and snapping her out of her silence.

"So you've seen my work," Mary said in a superior tone.

"I think we've already established how full of shit I am," Matthew said with a nervous laugh.

She smiled. "Stop, tonight, I'm the only one who gets to tease you."

"Would you rather have me made you look like a brooding poet instead of the radiant, glamorous, girl that you are?" Matthew asked.

"Am I that?" Mary asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Or at least perceived to be?" Matthew clarified.

"To be honest, I wouldn't mind a change. Perhaps, do something completely unexpected," Mary said as she brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "For example, tonight."

"I hope it was a pleasant evening for you," Matthew said.

"I'm glad to say that it was," Mary answered with a genuine and warm smile.

"You're not just saying that to make me feel better?" Matthew asked suspiciously.

"If I was, how would you know?" Mary said teasingly. "Apparently, I'm just that good an actress."

Matthew nodded with a smile. He hadn't smiled this much in years. He couldn't remember the last conversation that he had with anyone that lasted this long. It was a strange feeling. He had almost completely forgotten what it felt like to simply talk with someone, to connect with someone.

The wind howled as a sharp gust of wind caught them unawares. It had been getting colder. Matthew noticed as Mary curled inward for warmth little by little over the course of the night. Matthew checked his watch, 1:30. _Wow, that flew by quick_, Matthew thought to himself.

"My, my, it's getting cold," Mary remarked as she shivered.

"Oh, hold on," Matthew said casually.

Matthew turned around and reached by the fire pits and flicked on a switch. Immediately, Mary could feel the warmth upon her skin.

"Fancy," Mary commented.

"Not really, just some portable propane tanks," Matthew said. "You're not supposed to have these things in the building, shhh, don't tell anyone."

"I don't understand how you could have this place if you weren't working for a whole year," Mary asked.

"I didn't," Matthew answered with a hint of embarrassment returning to his voice, "I rented it out and spent most of last year in a shithole upstate."

Mary looked away awkwardly.

"Sorry, habit," Matthew said apologetically, "I really don't mean to keep bringing that stuff up."

"No, it's fine," Mary replied, "I kept prodding you about it, it's partly my fault."

"Maybe a little," Matthew replied with a hint of a smirk.

Silence fell upon them again. But this time it wasn't awkward. They had been talking for a long time. Longer than either of them had realized. And if they had their wish, perhaps, the night would never end and they could simply just talk for eternity. If it was a strange accident of circumstance that brought them to that point, alone, then something else kept them together in that moment, longer.

Perhaps, for Matthew it was enough that someone was merely interested in what he had to say, interested in how he felt, and understood what it was to suffer this quietly and this alone. Perhaps, it was enough for him that she didn't feel the need to give him advice and tell him how to get over it.

And perhaps, for Mary it was enough to have an evening away from the spectre of her own self. A moment away from the constructed persona that followed her wherever she went, making it harder and harder to know the difference between Mary Crawley, the actress, and Mary Crawley, the person. It was calming to have a few serene hours, when the mirror wasn't there, staring back at her, reflecting every inch of her, reminding her of how beautiful she was, how talented, how lucky… and as much as she tried to deny it, how empty she was. Perhaps, it was enough to know that there was someone understood that and didn't think that she was an ungrateful bitch for having those feelings.

"We should eat this cake," Matthew said, breaking the silence.

"There's only one fork," Mary replied coyly.

"How are you with sharing?" Matthew asked.

"Hmmm, not good I'm afraid," Mary said as she bit her bottom lip. "But for you, I'll make an exception."


	5. Chapter 5

_V_

She must've been doing it on purpose. She had to be! _No one actually eats like that._ Either by intentional design or by unconscious practice, Matthew watched, mesmerized, as the fork slid out of her mouth, pressed on both sides by her pink lips, like a sword out of its sheath. As the last of the prongs of exited her mouth, her jaws gently moved up and down before swallowing in one graceful motion, conjuring innumerable impure thoughts in his mind.

She let out the subtlest of moans (or perhaps he was imagining it all, he was starting to lose control of his faculties) before she stuck the fork back into the cake, causing it to smoothly deform around the metallic spikes before, completely giving way to its inevitable but serenely beautiful destruction.

"Matthew," she called out softly.

He was snapped out of his daze just in time to meet her eyes. They stared at him deviously. She knew what she was doing. He knew what she was doing. And she knew that too and she didn't care! He could be wise to all of her tricks, it didn't matter, she would make him melt anyways.

"This one's yours," Mary said as she held out the fork towards him.

"Might I… feed myself?" Matthew asked defensively, summoning as much sarcasm and indignation as he could (which wasn't much).

"Not at all," Mary replied sincerely. "Not after that last bite, you took way too much. You asked me if I was good at sharing. It seems to me, it is you who doesn't know how to share."

Matthew awkwardly opened his mouth as Mary gently fed him the cake.

"Now close your eyes."

He did.

"Now chew, gently and slowly."

He did.

"Now swallow."

He did.

"You may know how to make this cake," Mary said flippantly as she broke herself off another piece, "but you have no idea how to enjoy it."

How was this happening? When exactly did she turn the tables on him once again? He thought that they had reached a position of trust, found mutual understanding after divulging to one another intimate details of their lives. Maybe they weren't friends yet, but he thought they had moved past their initial animosity. She had extended an olive branch and he had accepted. So what exactly was this? Why was she trying to get in his head again? Was this her plan all along?

It came as both a welcomed relief and a frustrating disappointment when he heard the balcony door slide open. His eyes immediately jumped up and his posture instinctually straightened, lest he be caught in some compromising situation, however slight (like having cake fed to him by Mary). Especially if it was Tom, Matthew would never heard the end of it.

But thankfully it wasn't Tom, it was John and Anna.

"We're heading off," Anna said. "Thank you for having us over, I know it was a big step for you."

"You're always welcome," Matthew replied as he stood up. "Thank you for coming, and thank you for pushing me. I know I can be a little stubborn."

"Just a little bit?" John asked wryly.

They all chuckled a little at his comment.

"And Mary, it was such a pleasure to meet you. John and I will be going to see your movie as soon as it comes out," Anna said.

"Oh that's very kind of you," Mary said as she stood up as well. "And if it turns out it sucks. Be sure to lie to me the next time we meet."

Anna smiled. "I'm sure it won't."

"You have more faith in me than I do," Mary said as she reached in and gave Anna a hug.

Mary turned to face John and offered him a hug as well before holding out her hand.

"It is an honour to meet you, John Bates," Mary said regally, "I am grateful for your service to our country."

It took John a moment but he forced a smile and shook her hand.

"Did you tell her to say that?" John asked as he turned to Matthew.

"I just told her you were a real life ninja," Matthew said jokingly.

"I mean it," Mary said persistently. "It's nice to know that I'm not the only one representing England in Matthew's circle of friends."

"Oh, are you two friends now?" Anna asked teasingly.

"Well I can't speak for him but I'd like to think that we've buried our earlier unpleasantness," Mary said as she turned to face Matthew.

"Of course," Matthew forced a smile and answered politely. _Then why are you still doing that sexy cake thing?_

"Good, I'm glad," Anna said. "Matthew doesn't often make new friends."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Mary asked rhetorically.

"We'll, it's getting late and poor John isn't as spritely as he used to be," Anna said as she gently slapped her husband's chest. "Also, I almost forgot. Tom took off earlier. Said he had to meet some blonde girl… You know, the usual excuses."

"Typical, this whole thing was his idea and he bails early," Matthew said with an annoyed tone.

"Well…" Anna said, "it's not like you were making much time for the rest of us tonight."

Mary blushed and looked away. But she didn't conceal her smile.

"Anyways, we're off," Anna said. "Have a pleasant night, you two."

Matthew and Mary waved as John and Anna left the balcony. They then made their way back to the table. Mary sat down and immediately put her legs up onto the chair. Matthew put the fork on plate, picked it up, and began to head inside.

"Wait, we're not going to finish it?" Mary asked in a surprised voice.

"Do you want the rest?" Matthew asked he turned around to face her.

"You don't want anymore?" Mary said while flashing him a quizzical look.

Before Matthew could answer, Madeleine came out onto the balcony. Matthew immediately turned to look at her. The girl was astute enough to sense that the atmosphere on the balcony was a little tense. It looked innocent enough, Mary sitting there on the chair next to the firepits and the Matthew holding a plate with cake. One plate. One fork.

"I'm heading off too," Madeleine said with a sigh.

"Already?" Matthew asked awkwardly.

"It's two in the morning," Madeleine said with a hint of irritation in her voice. "And we haven't really seen much of you in the last couple of hours."

"I'm sorry about that," Matthew said remorsefully.

"Forget it," Madeleine said as she tried to suppress her tone. "By the way… you should check in on Rose."

A mortified look appeared on Matthew's face. "Oh God, is she alright?"

"She's fine," Madeleine said dismissively, "got her to drink some water and called Adrian to come pick her up."

"Thank God," Matthew said with a sigh of relief.

_Rose_, he had totally forgotten about her. She was the worst kind of party girl. She loved all of the vices but couldn't handle any of them. It's been so long since they had any real fun together, Matthew had completely forgotten about how much of a lightweight she was. In the old days, Matthew would've sat by Rose the entire time whenever they smoked a bit of pot or did a line of coke to make sure she was alright. She never was. It usually ended up with Matthew holding her hair up as she puked into a toilet in the bathroom of some strange unknown bar somewhere in Williamsburg or Ho Chi Minh City, depending on where Rose felt like going on that particular week. But ever since Matthew's divorce, as he started to become more and more of a recluse, Madeleine started to take over the role of chaperone for Rose.

"Thank you again," Matthew said apologetically, knowing that Madeleine was probably not too pleased to play babysitter again, especially now that Matthew had returned to them. "I'll keep an eye on her until Adrian gets here."

"Alright," Madeleine said as she reached over and gave Matthew a kiss on the cheek.

She turned around to leave.

But before she did so she looked at Mary and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you Miss Crawley. I hope you and Matthew have a nice night."

Matthew took a deep breath as he watched Madeleine leave. Mary let out an exasperated sigh as she stood up and flicked off the switch to the firepits.

"Oh, I could've done that," Matthew said.

"It's fine," Mary said disappointedly as she got up from her chair and made her way over to Matthew. "I think it is clear that the night is drawing to a close."

"I hope…" Matthew stammered.

"Yes?" Mary asked.

"I hope… I wasn't a disappointment," Matthew said nervously.

Mary raised an eyebrow at his last comment before she made her way back inside. The place was quiet now. All but a few of the candles had burnt out. There was a serenity to the stillness. Matthew watched her as she listlessly made her way around the room, casually and absently looking at the photographs that Matthew had on the walls.

"You know she has a crush on you, right?" Mary said casually while leaning over to look at one of the photos.

"Unfortunately, that does seem to be the case," Matthew said with a sigh as he went over and sat next to Rose on the couch.

"Well, she seems perfectly nice to me," Mary remarked.

"She is, she's absolutely wonderful," Matthew said absently, as he checked Rose's pulse and gently shook her. "Rose, can you hear me?"

"I'm fine, Matthew," Rose whispered before curling up tighter.

Mary smiled at Rose as she sat down next to her and began to gently stroke her hair. "Then what's the problem?"

"I'm not," Matthew answered.

"Oh come on, so what?" Mary asked incredulously. "You're never going to let yourself be happy again?"

"No, I didn't say that, I'm just not ready yet," Matthew replied simply.

"It's been more than a year," Mary remarked.

"Uhh, no, you don't get to do that," Matthew said as he looked up at her intently. "They get to do that because they spent the year watching me be a self-destructive asshole, they get to criticize me because they were there for me at my lowest, _you_ don't get to decide when I'm ready or not."

"Finally," Mary said with a satisfied smile.

"What?" Matthew asked in a befuddled voice.

"It's the first time tonight that you've actually defended yourself," Mary said imperiously.

"What? No, that can't be true," Matthew said defensively.

"No, you've deflected and you've dismissed," Mary said, continuing in her smug superior manner. "But you haven't once defended yourself this whole night."

Just as Matthew was going to respond, Rose stirred a bit and whispered, "Will you two please keep it down?"

Mary and Matthew both stared at each other before they shared a silent laugh. They both loved Rose in their own way. Matthew had met Rose as a starry-eyed, if not entirely vapid teenager, out of her element and out of her comfort zone, frightened to death, but she persevered. He had always admired that about her. Since, he had always looked out for her, made sure that she didn't get too out of control. He was never a disciplinarian with her, nor a father-figure, or even an older brother. He had never pre-judged any of her ex-boyfriends until they proved themselves to be assholes. But he did provide her with some structure and he'd like to think that it did rub off on her in the long term.

Mary hadn't known Rose for quite as long but her brief few months with her young assistant did sew the seeds of a budding friendship. Rose and Mary had much in common and while Mary's notoriety and money came as the result of her work rather than family connections, they nevertheless ran in similar circles. Even though Rose was working for Mary, they had developed a friendship outside of their work hours. Mary hadn't personally met the wild-child Rose, but had no problem imagining her as such in her younger days. And while Mary herself had never been quite that wild, she still felt a certain kinship and sympathy for Rose.

They sat silently for the next ten minutes, Mary gently stroking Rose's hair while Matthew occasionally checked her breathing and her pulse. A father or a brother would've been more worried but Matthew had seen this far too many times for it to scare him. Eventually, there was a knock at his door. Matthew got up to answer it. On the other side was a lanky kid with a leather jacket and long hair. This was Adrian, Shrimpie's driver. Although, he spent most of his time shuttling Rose around as Shrimpie spent a lot of time overseas.

"Took you long enough," Matthew said as he let Adrian in.

"Yeah, well, not exactly my regular hours are they?" Adrian shot back.

They made their way into the living room where Rose was curled up on the couch.

"Well, it's not as bad as I expected," Adrian said.

"Smoked a couple of joints had a few too many glasses of wine, that's it," Matthew said as he went to lift Rose off of the couch.

"Thought she was supposed to be getting her act together," Adrian commented wryly.

"As you said, it's not as bad as before," Matthew said.

Adrian went over to the couch and helped Matthew get Rose to her feet.

"Hey Mary," Adrian said as he put Rose's arm around his shoulders.

"You two know each other?" Matthew asked.

"Adrian drives Rose to work everyday," Mary said with a light chuckle. "I don't even have a personal driver but my assistant does."

Matthew nodded and smiled. Matthew and Adrian carried Rose as they made their way from his condo, to the elevator, through the back of the building to the service entrance where Adrian had left his car loitering. They managed to get her in the back seat without being too much difficulty.

"Alright, take her to her room at the Waldorf," Matthew said as he shoved her heels into Adrian's hand.

"Yes, boss," Adrian said sarcastically.

"I know this is my fault…" Matthew said remorsefully, "but don't tell Shrimpie?"

Adrian exhaled in frustration and paced around for a few moments. Ultimately, he patted Matthew on the shoulder and said, "Alright, this time…"

"I can live with that…" Matthew conceded.

Matthew watched as Adrian drove Rose away before he headed back upstairs. When he got there, he found Mary packing up her things and putting her shoes back on.

"How is she?" Mary asked.

"She'll be fine. She'll have a headache for a few hours in the morning but nothing more serious than that," Matthew replied.

"You're very sweet to take care of her," Mary said as she flashed him a crooked smile.

"She's a sweet girl, just a little bit reckless at times," Matthew said.

"You know, even after everything you told me tonight," Mary said as she approached him. "I still can't imagine you as the person you said you were a year ago."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Matthew replied.

Mary reached out and touched his face, her thumb ran against the contour of his cheek. She smiled at him in that heavy way that said that she was glad to have met him but also felt a little disappointed. As she was about to walk past him towards the door, his hand reached out and grabbed her by the wrist.

"Wait," he said.

Mary spun around and met his eyes immediately. There seemed to be surprise in her eyes, or perhaps even hope.

"What is it?" she asked softly.

"I don't know…" he whispered.

"Then what am I waiting?" she asked.

"I'd hate for the night to end this way," Matthew finally said.

"And what way is that?" Mary asked curiously.

"I don't know…" Matthew answered listlessly. "But I don't want it to end like this… I don't want it to end at all. Not yet, at least."

"It's getting late," Mary said suspiciously.

"Stay," Matthew said.

Mary was speechless. It was the first time that she had been caught off guard this whole night. He had managed to trap her in their conversation with awkwardness and just taking the punches she threw his way but this was the first time that she had been truly stunned by something he said. Mary wondered if she had heard him right. Did he know what he was asking?

"What?" Mary whispered.

"Stay the night," Matthew repeated.

"I… I…" Mary stuttered.

"No, I'm not asking that," Matthew said as he looked down embarrassed. "Though I am flattered that you didn't just outright say no. Take my bedroom, it's clean, it's comfortable. I wouldn't feel right sending you off into the city at three in the morning alone."

"That's not a very convincing excuse," Mary replied with an incredulous grin.

"Because the excuse doesn't matter," Matthew said. "It's a formality, a convention… an excuse."

"Look, Matthew," Mary said as she looked down. "I'm sorry if I've made you feel-"

"I'm not asking for anything," Matthew said as he cut her off. "I'm just asking you to stay. That's it. Nothing more. But of course, you can leave if you like. I won't be offended."

Matthew felt an inner panic as he spoke those words. He didn't mean to. He certainly hadn't planned this. It felt as if his body was on autopilot and everything that was coming out of his mouth was being spoken by someone else. Everything he was doing in that moment was anathema to every instinct of distance and detachment that he had cultivated over the last year. Something inexplicable was happening and it frightened and exhilarated him. This woman, this beautiful brunette standing in front of him had done something to him. He had seen her coming from a mile away. Her shoot had been booked two weeks before hand. He had anticipated all of her tricks. Her prolonged stares, the subtle wordplay, the cake. _Oh God, that fucking cake._ And yet, for all of this, he had no defense against her. He could only meet her on the field of battle, lest he be destroyed completely.

"You're very brave when you want to be," Mary finally said.

"That's not a no," Matthew said.

"You're right, it's not a no," Mary confirmed with a devious smile. "But I warn you, Matthew. You had better be a gentleman. Your room; doors closed. Just sleep. Because I am very tired. Is that clear?"

Matthew returned her smile with one of his own. "What else would there be?"

Mary flashed him a quizzical look as she turned around and began to head for his bedroom, slowly. Mary peaked over her shoulder and looked at him, staring at him until he began to follow. She kicked off her heels and continued towards his room barefoot. When she reached the door, she turned around the face him.

"You have proven yourself much bolder than I had anticipated," Mary said as she neared her face to his. "But I suppose, you couldn't have always been so timid given the stories of your travels across the globe."

Matthew shivered as he felt her hot breath across his cheek.

"I'm very glad to have seen a glimpse of your old self," she whispered into his ear. "But consider this a warning."

"A warning of what?" Matthew asked breathlessly.

Mary flashed him one more penetrating look before she spun around. "Unzip me."

Matthew's jaw hung open as he stood mere inches away from her back. He could see every contour and every curve of her body through her form fitting dress. He had never been so close to perfection before. He didn't even know that this kind of perfection even existed. His hands trembled as they moved themselves up to the zipper of her beige dress. What was happening? This woman was dangerous. And he had let her into his home.

He put one hand on her hip and dragged down the zipper with his other. Slowly, the dress peeled off of her to reveal her black bra and panties. He began to sweat and his hands began to shake even more. He quickly let go of her and the zipper as the dress effortlessly fell to the floor. She was now standing there, in only her underwear, exposed, vulnerable, and perfect.

He had no idea how long she had been looking over her shoulder at him but by the devilish grin on her face, he guessed it was long enough to have caught him staring at her butt and her legs. She turned around to face him.

"You invited me to stay. That's very kind. But don't ever forget… I warned you." Mary said as she leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "Goodnight, Mr. Crawley."

And with that, she stepped into his room and closed the door behind her. Leaving Matthew breathless, lightheaded, and his legs feeling like jelly on the other side. _Matthew, you idiot, what have you gotten yourself into?_ He thought as he leaned forward, his head gently colliding with the door.

**A/N:** Yeah... this isn't The Collected Letters.


	6. Chapter 6

_VI_

He exhaled as the droplets of cold water dripped from his face, ripping away the heat that she had generated within his entire body by the soft caresses of her whispers and the spell of her seductive words. He had invited a witch into his home. She was dangerous, opaque, sometimes kind and understanding, but just as easily and just as often, a cruel and wicked tease. Visions of her clouded his mind. The gentle curves of her bare back, her soft brunette hair, the perfect shape of her lips, all this kept replaying in his mind over and over again like a slideshow he couldn't turn off, exciting and torturing his base urges that he tried so desperately in that moment to keep under control.

She was formidable. She was the type of girl who knew that she was beautiful but also was smart enough to know not to overplay her hand, lest she come off as a narcissistic bitch. She understood her fame and how it affected the people around her and she was not afraid to take advantage of that fact. But she was not greedy and never revealed too much of her power to any one person. Perhaps, that was the worst part, she knew exactly who she was, or at least who she was to other people. It was rare enough to have a beautiful woman affect his judgement in anyway whatsoever, but she knew exactly what effect she had on him. He couldn't even decide if he had invited her to stay of his own free will or if it was the result of all the subtle mind games that she had been playing on him all night.

While standing there, aroused and boiling over with testosterone, he was tempted to masturbate. But he couldn't do that. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction. He would have her or wouldn't, no half measures. He turned off the shower and stepped out into the bathroom. No fog on the mirrors, he had drenched himself in ice cold water for the last ten minutes.

He was numb now and far more calm now. For the first time in hours he felt relaxed. But he knew it wouldn't last, images of her supple body still danced in his mind. He could not let go of them. So he did what he always did when frustration set in. He threw on a pair of sweatpants and began to clean. Everywhere. And everything. He wiped down the kitchen even though he had already cleaned it once after he made dinner. He meticulously scrubbed the dining room table even though Anna and Bates had cleaned up before they left. He mopped the floor and dusted every nook and cranky in his already austere and clean condo.

When it was all done, it was only 4:15 in the morning, still rather early for him. If Mary slept like regular people, she wouldn't be up for at least another five or six hours. He had a lot of time to burn. He sighed in exasperation as he looked around his spotless living room. He didn't even particularly like the way it looked. It felt sterile and dead, as if all signs of human life had been extinguished long ago and all that was left were a few artifacts of a past life. His past life.

He supposed that he should at least try to get some work done. After all, he hadn't had any time to actually process the photos with the party preparations taking up most of his afternoon. He took his laptop out of his bag and placed it down on the coffee table in the living room. He powered up the computer, opened up Lightroom, connected his Wacom tablet, and pulled up the photos from the afternoon.

For whatever reason, he had forgotten that his photoshoot in the afternoon was with Mary and it took him by surprised when she appeared on the screen, staring back at him confident and radiant. _That's just great,_ he thought to himself, _she couldn't have planned this? Could she?_

* * *

><p>She could feel her warm breath return to her as it bounced off of the sheets and reflected back into her face. The gentle moisture of intermingled with the tears streaming down her face, causing her to shiver. She had been fiercely, but silently, crying since she had woken up. She was exhausted. But damn if it didn't feel good to have a nice long cry. It had been so long. She wasn't quite sure what caused her to cry. She knew the reason why, it was the same as always. But she didn't know why <em>that<em> memory surfaced here. Usually, the only time she cried was when she was in her own bed, when no one was around. It was the only time she felt safe.

But this wasn't her home. This modernist condo, with blank walls and unfamiliar photographs wasn't home. For the first few moments when she awoke, before she the events of the previous night returned to her, she had mistaken the austere bedroom for her hotel. Still, somehow she found the room to be peaceful. There was a melancholy to its sparseness. As if its simplicity and lack of ornaments made this place a shrine. _To his ex-wife, no doubt._

Mary lay on her stomach motionless, intertwined with the warmth and softness of the silk duvet that wrapped around her body like a snake. She felt oddly beautiful in that moment with her hair splayed around his impossibly white sheets and her legs poking out of the duvet, exposed to the crisp cool perfectly climate controlled air of the room.

She endured her sadness and the feeling of intense loneliness that came to her every morning. She had learned that it would pass if she just laid motionless in bed for a while. The few times that she tried to conquer it by getting out of bed and getting on with her day before the moment passed, she found out that she couldn't do much of anything effectively at all. Thus the calculation became, either she wasted the first 20 minutes of her day lying catatonic in bed before getting up or being useless for the rest of the day. This inconvenience she could live with even if she was smart enough to know that this wasn't something that she could ignore forever.

She had been staring at the flatscreen TV that sat on the opposite end of the bed for as long as she had been awake. She wondered if Matthew spent a lot of time in bed watching movies and TV shows. She wondered how much time he spent in this room since it seemed so clean and unused. In fact his whole condo seemed unnaturally clean and sterile. She wondered if he actually lived here at all or if he was just an obsessive cleaner. Either way, there was something strange about that boy.

He was uncompromisingly handsome in that devil-may-care sort of way. He had a winning smile, when he chose to affect it, and piercing blue eyes. Yes, he was undeniably handsome. But he didn't seem to know it. At least not in the way that one would expect. Men that looked like him don't often let such a gift go unutilized. But given the course of his life, his longing and affection for one singular woman in his life, that despite never meeting, Mary had decided that she didn't like, he didn't seem to rely on it for much of anything. In fact it seemed to be a non-factor in his considerations with his interactions with people. It was as if he was completely oblivious to his own beauty.

But he wasn't oblivious. No, he wasn't dense or even unaware of himself. He could be quite perceptive, in fact, shockingly so. It had taken her all night to wear him down. Normally, men fell into her hands within first contact, and certainly after half an hour's worth of conversation. But even after she had initially breached his stoic silence, she found it difficult to navigate him. He had put up a far better resistance than any man she had ever tried to engage with. He wasn't a type. And that's what confounded her. He was striking and handsome, but he wasn't boisterous and conceited. He quiet and spoke very little, but when pushed he wasn't quite as timid as he first seemed. He seemed unsure and unimpressed with himself, but after a little push and pull, he seemed to be quite perceptive and clearly knew his own mind and had strong opinions. They were just heard to get to. His demeanour was friendly, but clearly behind those sky blue eyes was a subdued pain and a hidden anger. Who was he exactly? Was he the kind doctor that had saved a soldiers leg? Was he thrill seeking photojournalist that lived war and breathed conflict? Or was he the sensitive and hurt husband who is still very much in love with his ex-wife? Could all of these personas exist in one person?

He was definitely not a type.

While staring at the blank TV screen, she noticed a book on the shelf below. It was a large hardcover and on the spine, in golden letters was printed _Lavinia_. She wondered why it had taken her so long to notice. There wasn't much else in the room. She pushed herself up off of the bed, brushed her hair out of her face and went to grab the book. It was a photobook, on the cover was a stunning black and white photo of a woman's back. Mary couldn't see the entirety of her face but she could tell immediately, that she was quite beautiful.

Mary sat down on the bed once again as her curiosity took hold of her. She began to flip through the pages. Instantly, the first thing that jumped out at her was a two page spread at the center of the book, in the style of Playboy, of a black and white nude of the woman on the cover. She was indeed beautiful, stunning curves, long slender legs, perky breasts, a gentle face with a soft complexion. Not the type of girl that would seem to pose like this. But perhaps Matthew had a talent that she wasn't aware of. She continued to flip through the book, finding some coloured photos. She had flaming red hair that immediately drew Mary's attention. The whole book consisted of photos of this woman in various states of undress (mostly completely undressed). _Perhaps, this was the infamous ex-wife_, she thought.

She could see why Matthew was so taken with her. There was something ethereal about the woman, even as she remained motionless on the page. But there was life to her, a sense of an inner being, kind and loving, and perhaps just a bit nervous, yet excited about what she was doing in front of the camera. Perhaps, that was Matthew's work. He seemed to be able to capture the emotions of his subjects vividly. Before, she fell asleep last night, Mary took a few moments to google Matthew and immediately found some of his old articles. His war photos were indeed haunting and the photos of Syrian refugees were some of the most haunting she had ever seen.

After pouring through the photobook for another half an hour or so. She noticed that she was hungry. What time was it? She checked her phone and it said 10:30. Her eyes widened as she realized how late it was. While she wasn't great in the mornings, she didn't usually sleep in this late. But then again, she didn't often sleep over at men's places the first night they meet. She remembered that she had left her dress on the other side of the door after her little tease from the night before. Thinking about it, she felt rather embarrassed. But certain things always seem like a better idea in the dead of night.

Still she was determined to get up and finally leave the bedroom. She would have to eventually, after all. Mary made her way into his walkin closet and grabbed a white shirt off a hanger. _This would have to do_, she thought as she threw it on.

Mary exited his bedroom in style. She had checked herself in his ensuite bathroom mirror. Her hair was tousled in that perfect, casual, yet undeniably glamorous way. She wore his shirt in the typical way a one-night stand might, after a night of drunken monkey sex, with the only last two buttons done up, more a dress than a dress shirt. She made no attempt at hiding her bare legs as they strode, triumphantly into the living room.

She was expecting him to see her and become dumbstruck as he had been the night before. But as she entered and he caught a glance of her, Matthew merely flashed a friendly smile before he returning his attention to whatever had been occupying it before she entered the room. Did he not see what she was wearing? _How much more sexed up can I get?_

But her attention was soon diverted by the sumptuous feast that Matthew had prepared for breakfast. On the dinner table was a giant plate of french toast, a glass bowl filled with various varieties of fruits, and some bacon on the plate, presumably for her. Her stomach growled immediately. _Oh my god_, she thought to herself. When was the last time she had a homecooked breakfast? Her work schedule had been so hectic for the last couple of weeks, she was lucky if she got a yogurt and a granola bar most mornings.

"I've made some coffee, if you'd like some," Matthew said in a cheerful voice from the kitchen. "If not I have tea as well."

"Coffee's fine," Mary said as she sat down at the dinner table.

Matthew came over from the kitchen with a white mug and placed it down in front of her. She looked up at him meekly, as he served her. It felt rather strange, she couldn't decide if she liked it or not.

"You can help yourself to cream and sugar," Matthew said as he moved the bowl of fruit out of the way to reveal the small cream dispenser and sugar bowl, complete with a silver spoon.

She took the spoon and scooped some sugar into her coffee. It wasn't an exact amount, it never was. Mary gently blew on her coffee to cool it down as she watched from the rim of the mug, Matthew as he worked cooked in the kitchen. She couldn't see what he was making but no doubt it would be delicious like everything else he made. She had the distinct feeling that while not everything he made was good but he would never make something he wasn't confident in for a guest. He had this air of perfection about him, at least in the way he presented himself. Obviously she knew better.

"Did you sleep well?" Matthew asked casually.

"Yes, I did actually, your bed is very comfortable," Mary said deviously while making eyes with him.

Matthew merely smiled a knowing smile, shook his head gently, and went back to cooking.

Rather disappointed by his nonresponse, Mary continued, "What about you? You went to bed later than me and yet here you are, up and about making breakfast."

"I don't sleep much," Matthew answered.

"Ever?" Mary asked jokingly.

"Not recently," Matthew answered plainly.

Matthew made his way over from the kitchen with a plate of eggs benedict. He placed two biscuits on her plate and went back into the kitchen to fetch the Hollandaise sauce.

"Are you just trying to show off?" Mary asked.

"A little bit," Matthew said with a smug smile as he returned with the bowl of Hollandaise which he promptly drizzled over her eggs.

Matthew sat down on the chair adjacent to hers and poured himself some coffee. He grabbed the New York Times off of the kitchen counter and began to flip through it. Occasionally he peaked out beyond the pages of the newspaper to see how Mary was faring with the breakfast that he had so painstakingly crafted for her. It wasn't easy and he didn't usually make such an effort in the mornings. But this was part of his plan, for he had one now, or at least some vague semblance of a plan for dealing with her.

Mary on the other hand was utterly confused by Matthew's morning behaviour. He seemed detached, and yet, still very friendly. Was he doing to her, what she had done to him last night? No, she recognized her own game and this wasn't it. She didn't trouble herself with it too much though, breakfast was too delicious and stole much of her attention. She was enjoying herself. She was enjoying this late morning breakfast, lounging around in her underwear, with his shirt on, eating the food that he had prepared for her. There was something serene about that moment. It was peaceful. It was something she wanted.

For a moment, just a moment, she saw something. It was strange, as if her eyes had tricked her into creating something in her mind. She saw herself, in the kitchen, with Matthew standing with his arms wrapped around her as she stirred a pot over the stove. She saw herself looking her shoulder at him… lovingly. What? She saw him lean in. She saw both their eyes close. Suddenly, it was evening again and there were candles once again on the dinner table. She could smell food, she didn't even know that she could cook that well. She heard music, Nora Jones or Melody Gardot... What was she looking at? Was this a life? Was this her life?

"What are you looking at?" Matthew asked, snapping her out of her trance.

"What?" Mary instinctively said, feeling a little flustered. "Nothing… nothing at all."

Matthew flashed her a curious look before returning his attention to his newspaper.

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" Mary asked.

"I've already eaten," Matthew answered.

"So, Matthew Crawley…" Mary said with intrigue in her voice.

"Yes?" Matthew said absently.

"Come on, Matthew," Mary said playfully, "you didn't invite me to stay the night just so you could cook me breakfast the next morning while you read the newspaper."

"No?" Matthew asked, as took the hint, folded up The New York Times and put it down on table. "Then why did I ask you to stay?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Mary said gleefully as she took another bite of her biscuit.

"And what have you surmised so far?" Matthew said plainly as he stared back at her.

"Well… I did some digging last night," Mary said.

"Uh oh," Matthew replied sarcastically.

"You're not the only one who knows how to do research," Mary said, continuing her playful affectation.

"Your ability to google astounds me to no end," Matthew replied.

"Feeling sarcastic now, are we?" Mary asked, while shifting her tone to something a bit more defensive.

"Just… playing it safe I suppose," Matthew said as he softened his tone a bit.

"And you feel this necessary with me?" Mary asked.

"After last night, I think so," Matthew said plainly.

"You're very suspicious," Mary remarked.

"You've mentioned that," Matthew said dismissively.

"Nevertheless, it is true," Mary said.

"And you are a dangerous woman," Matthew retorted, raising his voice a little.

"Why do you say that?" Mary asked.

"Don't pretend like you don't know," Matthew replied gently and with a cordial smile, careful to not engage too deeply with her. "Not after what you did last night."

"Because I asked you to unzip my dress?" Mary asked.

"Is that all it was?" Matthew asked incredulously.

"I needed to get out of my dress so I could sleep," Mary answered innocently, perhaps a little too innocently.

Matthew couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "I'm not playing anymore."

"And here I thought we were having so much fun," Mary commented, maintaining her girlish innocence in her voice. "I thought we had become friends."

"I thought we had an honest moment. I told you something about me, and you told me something about you," Matthew replied plainly.

"Yes, and it was pleasant, I must say it was nice to be able to say those things out loud for once," Mary said with a bit of a sigh.

"Then why did you have to do the… the thing…" Matthew asked.

"What thing?" Mary asked back.

"You know, the thing with the cake and the dress…" Matthew replied, a little frustrated that he had to enunciate it for her.

"You don't like the way I eat and the way I undress?" Mary asked obtusely.

Matthew laughed off her faux-innocence once again and said, "no… I didn't say that."

"You did it like it then?" Mary asked.

"I didn't say that either," Matthew replied.

She paused and stared at him. She would force a smile out of him if they had to sit there all day. It didn't take nearly that long to break him.

"See, Matthew, isn't this fun?" Mary asked lightheartedly.

"Do you enjoy this?" Matthew asked suspiciously. "Do find some sort of twisted pleasure in jerking men around like this?"

"Who says I do?" Mary replied indignantly.

"Please," Matthew said dismissively, "no one is that good at what you do without a lot of practice."

"Well, I'm flattered that you think me so Machiavellian," Mary replied with a devious smile.

Matthew didn't reply. _Don't engage her._

"Look, Matthew," Mary finally said after a few moments of silence. "Alright, you caught me. I'm a bit of a flirt. But that doesn't mean that we didn't have a truly wonderful time last night. At least I don't think so. A moment of honesty is not negated by a little harmless flirting. Besides, is it really so bad? Isn't it a little flattering when I flirt with you?"

Matthew conceded with a subtle nod. It was indeed flattering to know that a woman, as beautiful and desired as her, found him worth engaging with at all, let alone flirt. "That's not the problem at all."

"Then what is?" Mary asked.

"The problem is that it isn't an even playing field," Matthew replied bluntly.

"What do you mean?" Mary asked again.

"You know what I mean," Matthew said.

"Because I appear on your Netflix queue a half-dozen times?" Mary asked with a tone that was half-teasing and half-earnest.

Matthew was stunned. How did she know that? Did she know that? She must've, otherwise she wouldn't have brought it up. Either way, he felt terribly embarrassed at that moment.

"I tried to watch something last night," Mary added.

Despite himself, a smile forced its way onto his face. "Okay, fine, yes, yes, that's precisely the reason."

"I can't help who I am," Mary said softly with a gentle shoulder shrug. "I can't help… how you perceive me."

He was a little surprised. He was expecting her to tease him relentlessly over her recent discovery. Part of him wondered if she had engineered the whole conversation to get to that exact revelation. But she didn't, she just dropped it as if it were completely irrelevant to her view of him. Perhaps, she wasn't interested in merely stroking her own ego with the his attention. Perhaps, he had judged her unfairly, despite her goodnight theatrics.

"I know that," Matthew replied with a sigh, "but that's precisely why this isn't fair."

"Are you saying that you don't want to be friends anymore?" Mary asked plainly, with a hint of genuine disappointment and fear in her voice.

"I'm not entirely sure..." Matthew replied, "that's all there is to it..."

Mary was stunned. Had she just heard him right? What did he mean by that? Was he admitting that he might possibly feel something for her? Her heart skipped a beat at thought. He was so difficult to read at times, sometimes, often, he was suspicious and distant, other times, he was cordial and friendly, and sometimes, just a few times, when she had admitted something secret about her, he was almost… caring.

But this was all so sudden. She had barely even known him for 24 hours. _But people could be immediately attracted to each other, right?_ After all, isn't that how all one-night stands come about? Is that all this was? Hormones and the primal instinct? For some reason, the thought made her quite sad. It made it sound so reductive. And she hoped that he liked something about her that was more than just her physical appearance.

Why was she even thinking these things? She had a boyfriend back at home and a life that she had built with him. Who was this stranger to come into her mind and call all of that into question.

And yet… and yet, despite herself and all the discipline of her mind, he did. At least for a few brief but vivid seconds, when she saw them together in his kitchen. _What was that?_ She still hadn't quite figured it out.

"Is there something else?" Mary asked tentatively.

"I don't know," Matthew replied with a frustrated sigh, "but it is really hard for me… to get past the effect your… fame has on me."

"Might I mention that all I've tried to do is get to know you," Mary replied. "Yes, perhaps I was a bit flirty. Perhaps, I misread your signals, but I don't think so. I think you're being deliberately difficult because you're afraid or ashamed to admit that, maybe, just maybe, you liked it. And that it isn't my fault, that I'm not playing some trick on you, and that you may just have some agency in all of this."

Stunned by her sudden burst of emotion, Matthew had no immediate reply. It took him a few moments to process what she just said. They had fallen back into their pattern of verbal sparring from the night before, albeit with a little less tension this time, and this sudden burst of blunt honesty came as an utter surprise.

"You're right," Matthew answered finally. "You did try to get to know me. And I'm sorry I was suspicious of you. That was your fault, it was mine. The fact that I have trouble overlooking your fame and your beauty, says nothing of who you are. It only reveals me to a be a shallow bastard."

"God, Matthew," Mary said as she softened her voice once again and took a sip of her coffee, "you weren't so afraid of me during our photoshoot, what changed?"

"It's different when we're shooting," Matthew answered with a subtle nod and a subtler smile.

"Why?" Mary asked.

"It just is…" Matthew answered simply.

That was a little disappointing to Mary. She didn't blame him for what he felt. He was in fact smarter than the average person to even realize how much her fame and public persona affected his idea of her. Most fans and people just think that they know her because they've seen interviews and watched her in movies. At least, he was aware that there was a person underneath the actress. Even if he had trouble seeing her.

"Then what would you say to another shoot?" Mary asked.

"I don't think we can redo the Rolling Stone shoot, besides I processed most of the images last night," Matthew answered.

"I don't mean for the magazine," Mary said nervously. "I just mean… for us."

"Are you sure?" Matthew asked.

"Why not? It could be fun." Mary answered plainly. "And…"

"And what?" Matthew asked suspiciously.

"I have to admit something," Mary said, suddenly sounding very unsure of herself.

"What is it?" Matthew asked in an intrigued voice.

"I found… an old photobook of yours," Mary answered.

"And…?" Matthew asked.

"And… they weren't war photos," Mary replied.

It took a second for Matthew to put the pieces together. She must've found a photobook of some of his work during college. He laughed internally. Matthew found it adorable that she was so nervous to admit that he had seen his earlier work, when he was just an amateur with a camera. It was a great way to get with girls.

"Ahhh…" Matthew answered knowingly. "And that's the style you were thinking of?"

"Well, they were beautiful photos," Mary said, hoping a compliment would take the edge off.

Matthew chuckled slightly and said, "alright, but you're stepping into my domain now."

"Well, hold on just a minute," Mary said defensively. "You make it sound like I've never been in front of a camera before. Don't take me so lightly just because we're doing something in your comfort zone."

Matthew simply rolled his eyes as he got up out of his chair. He walked across the room to the bookshelf on the otherside. He grabbed a small silver camera off of the top shelf and turned back around to face Mary. "Just remember, I warned you."

* * *

><p>After breakfast, they began to prepare for their private little shoot. Mary thought it was a little crazy that this was actually happening. She didn't quite fully grasp the full extent of what she had gotten herself into. She figured that she had been in front of the camera countless times before and that it was no big deal. She was a veteran; a pro. But this was different.<p>

Matthew had converted his second bedroom into an hour/studio so they had a place to shoot. When Mary had suggested that she go out and pick something up for their little project, Matthew said no and that she looked perfectly fine with what she was wearing (or rather, not wearing). Matthew had wanted her to look natural for this shoot. He said, that she looked too ethereal, too regal, too perfect in most of the photos he had ever seen her in. _That was by design, you idiot._ She insisted that she had to at least put on some makeup. He relented and agreed but told her to keep it minimal.

When she was putting on her eyeliner in his bathroom mirror, she noticed a slight tremble in her hands. Her hands never trembled. What was this? Was she… nervous? What reason did she have to be nervous? Photoshoots were always the most boring part of her job. She loved the photos, but thought posing for them were rather tedious. But there it was the tremble. And what's more, she felt butterflies in her stomach as well. Something about the prospect of this photoshoot made her anxious. _No, no, this is nothing_, she thought to herself as she tried to shake off the feeling. She was a confident, radiant star. Matthew had simply just put a few stray thoughts into her head. She would own this like she owned every photoshoot.

Stepping into the studio, Mary found Matthew polishing the lens of his little silver camera. There was something different about him. He hadn't changed physically from the time they were in the kitchen but somehow, he felt… intimidating. She nervously made her way into the room, her heels clicking against the hardwood floorboards. He smiled at her cordially as he noticed her enter. She was still wrapped in his shirt but somehow felt more exposed than ever before.

"Shall we begin?" he asked politely.

She simply nodded nervously.

She stood in front of the white backdrop as Matthew positioned himself a few feet from her. He knelt down and looked through the viewfinder of his little silver camera. She began to pose as she always did. She knew how to do this but still very awkward doing it in front of him. Perhaps, it was the fact that there was no one else around like usual. She didn't have her publicist, her manager, Rose… There were no lighting techs, no makeup artists. She was all alone in a room with _him_.

"Shift your weight to your right leg," Matthew commanded from behind the camera.

She did. Snap.

"Good, now turn slightly to your left," he commanded again.

She did. Snap.

"Good, now slide the shirt off of your left shoulder," he commanded again.

She did. Snap snap.

"Now turn around," he commanded.

She did so, turning to face the white backdrop. A sudden dread past through her. Excitement and terror coursed through her veins. Suddenly, she felt flush and lightheaded. Her knees felt weak and the trembling returned to her hands. There was something about his voice when he commanded her that compelled her to obey, even when she wasn't quite sure. At that moment, she was completely under his spell. She was his to direct, his to command. And it was hers to obey. When did this happen? How could she have missed this? Was this it? Was this what he meant by _I warned you_?

"Spread your legs," he commanded.

She did.

"Arch your back," he commanded.

She did.

"Good, now lose the shirt," he commanded.

_Gulp._

She did.

_Oh God, Mary, you stupid girl, what have you gotten yourself into?_

**A/N: **Wow, you guys loved that last chapter. That was nothing compared to what I have planned. :P Trust me, this will get into full M territory soon, but let's enjoy the foreplay while it lasts, shall we? As always, thank you thank you thank you, to all of the people who followed, favourited, and reviewed! I read all of them, multiple times. Also, the the Guest reviewer who had a little bit of an issue with Matthew being American. Watch The Guest, Dan Steven's American accent is on point! And he's hella sexy in it.


	7. Chapter 7

_VII_

Every snap of the shutter sent shivers down her spine. As if he, through that damn camera of his, had somehow tapped directly into her nervous system and was now tugging and pulling at her, just to get a reaction. She couldn't let him win. He may have led her into this trap but she wasn't about to give up without a fight. She just had to figure out how. Every picture taken, every new pose felt like a surrender. Everytime he told her to do something, stick out her hip, straighten her knee, pop out her butt, arch her back, look at him, that was the worst one, _look at him_, felt like she was losing herself to him. And she was. She absolutely was.

A desire for his approval, to please him, the way he said _good_, grew within her. She wanted to be beautiful to him. She wanted to be sexy. Oh God, what if she wasn't? What if she couldn't compared to that Lavinia girl? What if she just looked ridiculous to him? She was rather out of her element right now. Bra and panties weren't what she typically wore during photoshoots and the poses that he wanted to get were far outside her comfort zone. She had been in the business for quite a while now, had a following, both male and female, but had never had a Maxim or FHM photoshoot like most young ingenues. It wasn't exactly how she pictured her career going, but given the current state of her career, she wondered if injecting a little sex appeal into it wasn't an entirely bad idea.

"Alright," Matthew said, snapping her out of her thoughts, just as she was losing herself to the rhythm of the shoot. He probably did that on purpose.

He took the strap of his little silver camera and slung it around his shoulder. He opened the doors to the studio and beckoned her through.

"Where are we going?" Mary asked.

"To the bedroom," Matthew answered with a devious smile.

Who did he think he was? Ordering her into his bedroom. Yet, she did not protest. She merely flashed him a nervous smile and marched her way into the next bedroom. She was pensive as she entered the space that she slept in last night. How different it felt in there now, knowing that he was but a few feet behind her, no doubt leering at her laced panties. He must've been enjoying every second of this.

She leaned over and put her hands and elbows down on his bed, arched her back and pushed her butt into the air, while straightening her knees. After taking a deep, breath, she finally looked back at him. He gave a befuddled look, almost as if saying _what are you doing_? Oh God, had she been too forward? What was this ridiculous pose? At what point did she become an amateur. She had been in more photoshoots than she could remember. None like this.

"Well… okay," Matthew said in a faux-astonished voice.

He knelt down and snapped a few choice shots of her derriere.

_You asshole_, Mary thought. He knew exactly what he was doing, commanding her into suggestive poses until she was confident enough in herself to improvise. And just at that moment of comfort and trust, he pulled his support, knowing full well how vulnerable and ridiculous she would feel as he did so.

Perhaps, this was punishment for teasing him last night.

But he was gentle, if still unbearably smug, as he walked over to her, placed his hand on the small of her back. _Electricity. Keep it together, girl._ He pushed gently on her forcing her to laid down the on the bed. A part of her, a very small part of her, wanted him to crawl on top of her right then and there. But he didn't. He swerved to the side of the bed, knelt down and put his camera to his face again.

He could see as her chest visibly rose and collapsed underneath the ebbs and flows of her breathing. She was nervous. Did this girl get nervous? Did he make her nervous? Good, he wanted to make her nervous. This is what she got for the stunt she tried to pull last night. There was something about the way that she tried to lower his defenses honest conversation and genuine kindness, only to use the ensuing feeling of openness and trust to tease him relentlessly that he found utterly enraging. This was appropriate penance.

Matthew relished the moment of control. He loved her nervous demeanour, the random pauses, and the shuttering of her skin as he placed his hand gently on her back. The ball had been in her court for so long it was nice that he got to control the pacing of their interaction for once. Even if it was in this peculiar circumstance. He would take what he could get and make the most of it.

But it wasn't all malicious. In fact, that was the least of it. Torture wasn't the primary goal of these photos. He wanted to actually get to know her. To see her with her guard down and to capture that with his camera. And if he could make her squirm a little in the process, well that was just a bonus.

After Despite everything, despite her being putty in her hands now, he still found her irresistibly gorgeous. Not in the cold and regal way that she was known for, but in a more intimate and human way. He found the vulnerability in her eyes as her expressions shifted from defensive annoyance, to calm, to nervous, longing, and back again to be utterly endearing. Apparently there was a human being underneath the outer shell of manners, grace, and a quick wit, after all. He wondered if anyone had ever seen this side of her before? It was certainly alien to him, although he had always suspected. This human side, where her beauty was just a natural part of who she was, rather than a weapon she employed against people.

He worked his way around the bed, snapping shots of her from every angle. He was meticulous, like he was during the first first photo shoot but he was far more graceful now. He was in charge, exploring her, her legs, her butt, her back, her shoulders, her clavicles, her abs, her eyes, her mouth, her hair, her neck, as he chose, finding interesting shots, wherever possible. He had stored, in his little memory card, an intricate tapestry of Mary Crawley, intimate and revealing.

He wondered what he could do with these photos. It went without consideration in his mind that these were not to be sold. Although, there were publications that would pay him a handsome amount for shots such as these. But the very idea was repugnant, not only to his sense of private decency, but also to his artistic integrity. These prospective buyers, whichever tabloid they were and their cohort of leering perverts, could never appreciate what he had done with these photos. They could never discern the way he had deconstructed Mary Crawley. All they would notice is her in a state of undress. They could never appreciate the careful cropping of her face and her body, stripping away the corporate identity and public persona that invariably came with a full body shot or a traditional magazine headshot, choosing angles that were never used for advertising or glamour photography. If there was a person, a real person, underneath the actress, the artificial media construct, she had been buried under years of fashion editorials and promotional photos. It was his goal, that morning to bring that person out.

It didn't help that she was perfect, in every physical way. Even without the airbrushing and the photoshop, Mary Crawley was as close to perfection has he had ever encountered before. And yes, he acknowledged that even in that moment, where he was in control of her, there was still something about her fame that could alter his perception of her. But he didn't think so, not anymore. He had finally got through the practiced manners and carefully considered affectations. He had seen looks and expressions on her face that he had never seen her make in either interviews or film. And yet, even in this moment, this most honest of moments, where all iniquities and scars were laid bear, the unalterable fact was that _she was still so fucking beautiful_.

Her hands trembled as they moved around. She slid them along her thighs as Matthew's lens traveled towards her legs. They suddenly pushed her legs open, revealing the inner thighs and what was in between, covered only by the thinnest of black fabrics. Matthew was stunned, he lowered his camera. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to take a picture of that. That seemed a little vulgar even for this shoot.

She arched back and popped her chest upward, leaning her head back momentarily while rubbing her inner thighs. She heard no snap. This was it, this was her moment. She looked down towards her legs at him. He was utterly flabbergasted. It was now or never. This was her chance to regain the upper hand while he was distracted. She had been working her way to that point for the last… ten minutes? Thirty minutes? An hour? Or she didn't know or care, she had lost all sense of time. The important thing was that she had gotten there and thank the heavens. Because she had seriously been losing herself to the snapping of the shutter, everywhere suggestive pose.

She took the opportunity to place her heels onto his shoulders and slide her calf gently against his cheek. His eyes seemed to roll into the back of his head as she did so. Mary grinned in satisfaction. She felt him collapse to his elbows underneath the softness of her touch. He would be down for the count in a few moments. It was just a matter of time. Because that's just how good Mary Crawley was. One moment of weakness, one moment of distraction, and she'll bring you to your knees.

So it took her by surprise when instead of collapsing onto his bed underneath the softness of her calves, she felt as her heels being removed slowly, gently, but deliberately by him. She heard the clunk of one of them as they dropped to the hardwood floor as the other landed soft thud onto the bed. What was he doing? She watched as he crawled onto the bed, pushing forward until her knees hooked onto his shoulders. She could feel his hot breath against her inner thighs as they dissipated just short of where they were desired most. _Oh god, Matthew, just kiss them now_, she thought as she let out a soft moan.

She caught herself in that moan. _Wait, no, this isn't happening_, she panic, _he's doing this deliberately_. He was actually fighting back. Who was this man that could so heroically resist her? This Matthew Crawley, was far more formidable a man than she had ever met before. Who could resist the divine touch that were her legs? Who could mount a counterattack after that? Apparently he could. This wasn't good. Any closer and he would be able to see if the wetness stained upon her laced panties, if he couldn't see it already. And once he did it would be all over.

She quickly took her legs off of his shoulders and wrapped them around his waist and forced him towards her face. Matthew was taken by surprise by the force and strength of her legs. And for a brief moment, the absurdity and luridness of the fact that he was even trapped between her legs gave him pause. But all that soon fell away as their eyes met.

Fear and longing intermingled into an expression on the edge of ecstasy as they held themselves in that position for a moment. Neither of them said anything in that moment, they only stared into each other eye's. Because if they spoke, they would have to explain, they would have to ask, and things would get complicated. But if they remained silent, if they just kept doing what they were doing without words, then they were still just taking photos.

When was the last time Matthew actually snapped a photo?

Mary opened her legs slightly and dug her heels into his lower back causing him to lean closer towards her. When he tried to reclaim the distance and sit back onto his knees, she locked her ankles and refused to let him go. What now, Matthew? She grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him even closer. Their faces were mere inches away from each other now. Their breathes intermingle as they continued to stare silently at each other. They were still just taking photos. Mary began to unbutton his shirt, one button at a time. They were still just taking photos. Her hands slid to the inside of his shirt and touch his chest. He was burning hot, but so was she.

Not to be outdone, Matthew reached for the center of her chest and with one quick motion, unhooked her bra, releasing the cups from each other. Mary eyes shot a vicious look at him, _how dare you? But yes, and so many more yeses_. She couldn't stop him anyways, she was powerless to defend against his hands. Her only hope was to attack.

Her hands explored his chest and his abs underneath his shirt. She could feel him shiver as her touch explored his torso.

They were still just taking photos.

She pulled him in even closer, so that their lips were all but touching. She didn't care anymore. She didn't care that just 24 hours ago, this man was a complete stranger to her, she didn't care that this made no sense at all, and all that had frightened her about this situation had long since evaporated. This may have been stupid, this may have been reckless, and this may have been everything that she had spent years teaching herself how to guard against. Passion was for the screen, not her personal life. And yet, there it was, just a breath away. She had to taste him, she had to have him.

"You have a boyfriend," he whispered softly.

_I know._

She knew that. Yes, she _fucking _knew that.

"You have an ex-wife," she whispered back.

_Oh God, Lavinia, forgive me._

"It's not the same," he replied.

"Isn't it?" she questioned.

There was a ring. It was her phone.

**A/N:** Well... what the fuck did I just write? There was actually supposed to be some plot in this chapter but I guess plot is going to have to wait its turn.


	8. Chapter 8

_VIII_

_Go away. Go away!_

_Mary grimaced as she fell back onto the bed and reached for her phone. She was stalling, deliberately patting her hands around the phone as if she couldn't quite pinpoint where it was on the nightstand. She could find her phone blindfolded in a room full of phones. Eventually she picked it up and turned to look who was calling. It was Rose. Of course it was Rose, she always did pick the most inopportune times to actually do her job._

_Mary let out a deep sigh of frustration. Her fingers ached as she went to swipe the answer call prompt. But before she could do so she felt his lips plant against hers and push them apart. Her eyes widened in surprise as her attention fell away from her phone and focused in on the softness of his lips and the heat of his breath. He played with her, parting her lips and licking her teeth. Before she knew it, he had snatched her phone away from her. She pretended to be annoyed but she wasn't very convincing._

_She relaxed herself, slid her arms out of her bra, and brought her hands up to his face. This wasn't real, this can't be real. She kind of thing only happened in movies. She would know! She's been in this exact same scene countless times before. But this time it was real, they were alone, no director telling her what to do next, no grips leering at her from a distance, no blinding key lights, no cameras, well except for the one that lying next to her on the bed._

_This kind of thing simply did not happen._

_And yet, it did. This was real. He wasn't an actor playing a role. He actually wanted her. It felt strange. She knew just by the stray stares that she gets everyday that men wanted her. But they never actually got close, not this close. She never let them get this close. She was vulnerable here, she felt exposed. But for some reason she wasn't scared of him. Perhaps, she should be. This all happened so fast, faster than she could process it._

_She felt his hand slide from her hips, up her stomach, and cup her breasts. He squeezed her gently, pushing a soft moan out of her. Matthew replied with more kisses, this time down her neck until he reached her collarbone. Mary's hands reached down and started to undo his belt. He didn't stop fact, he leaned back and hastily removed his shirt. Mary's hands instinctively dragged themselves from his face, down his neck, and across his chest, down his abs._

_She reached down onto his pants and felt him. He was hot. He was hard. She could feel the blood pulsing through him. She could feel his strength buckle within her grasp, she could feel his knees begin to shake. And just as she was about to pull his pants down she heard him say, "Mary.."_

"_Mary…"_

"Mary!"

It took her a few minutes to fully comprehend where she was. It was the ambient hum, that unmistakable hum, that clued her in. And of course, that voice. It was Rose. _God damn it, Rose, if couldn't let me have it for real, why couldn't you just leave me to my fantasies?_ They weren't in the air anymore. They must've landed. Sometimes the flight between JFK and Heathrow seemed incredibly short.

Mary slowly opened her eyes and submerged herself in reality once again. _Fuck reality._ She turned her head to look at Rose. She simply stared back at her.

"You ruined it twice," Mary murmured in her groggy daze.

"Ruined what?" Rose replied as she looked curiously at Mary.

Mary didn't reply. She simply closed eyes eyes once again and leaned back into the headrest of her seat. Rose's gaze wandered and noticed Mary's hands squeezing her phone in her lap, as if she was about to snap it in half.

By the time they were off the plane and making their way to pick up, Mary's mood had gotten considerably better. She was still a little cross with Rose for calling in the first place but ultimately, she knew that the girl was just doing her job and truth be told, if she had left Mary and Matthew to their own devices, Mary definitely would've missed her flight. And despite, her more primal desires, she was grateful for the call, as it saved her from making a huge mistake. She had a good thing with Tony and Mary had no intentions of ruining that.

"How mad do you think Claudia is going to be?" Mary asked as they stood in the pick up location waiting for their ride.

"Well," Rose said as she looked at her watched, "we're definitely going to be late. But not too late. I would think that she would cut you some slack."

"Not likely," Mary replied.

"You can't always be prompt," Rose said. "You're allowed to be late once in a while"

"The whole reason I hired her to be my manager was because she had a reputation of being a taskmaster," Mary said.

"And now you're regretting it?" Rose asked as she tried to contain her smirk.

"Don't give me that look," Mary said as slapped Rose across her arm. "I know what you think but nothing happened."

"I knew something was up when I went to get you at your hotel this morning and found that you hadn't returned for the night," Rose said teasingly. "Somehow, it just didn't seem possible that you got up earlier than me to go to the airport."

"You think you're so clever. All because you had the thought to call my cellphone?" Mary asked incredulously.

"You and Matthew, god I should've seen it coming," Rose said with a smug look on her face. "You two are so perfect."

"We are not perfect," Mary objected.

"I totally ship you guys," Rose said.

"You can't ship real people," Mary said.

"Tumblr begs to differ," Rose said cheekily.

"I have a boyfriend," Mary said.

"He's boring," Rose replied blithely.

"He's... " Mary began to say, "please don't tell anyone that I spent the night at Matthew's."

Rose flashed Mary a despondent look but ultimately said, "fine."

A few minutes later, and just as the rain was to pour, a silver sedan pulled up beside. Edith stepped out of the car, opening her umbrella as she did so, and greeted Mary and Rose each with a one handed hug.

"Thank you so much for picking us up on such short notice," Mary said to her younger sister.

"It's no problem," Edith replied. "So… how was New York?"

* * *

><p>That signature scent of every corporate coffeehouse across the entirety of the United States filled his nostrils despite his best efforts to breathe with his mouth. He hated that smell. It wasn't that he hated coffee, although he did prefer tea. It wasn't even that he hated corporate America, the artificial atmosphere of <em>good taste<em>, or the faux-modernist art on the walls, although on some level he did despise those things. It was that Starbucks reminded him of his mistake. It reminded him of Lavinia.

This was his life at one point. Getting up every morning at seven, brushing his teeth beside her, shower sex, and finally picking up their coffees together. That was their routine. This contrived construction of class and wealth, disdainful as it was to his sensibilities, had at one point represented all that he was. And even if there was something insincere and uncomfortable about his previous life, at least he lived it with her. He had built a life with her. And he threw it away when he decided that being a doctor wasn't what he wanted.

She didn't deny his need for something outside his comfortable little pre-packaged life. In fact, it was she who encouraged him to quit his job at the hospital and join Doctors without Borders. She supported him as he spent months away at a time on some far off continent making a measly income and causing her the pain of missing him. And even when he gave up being a doctor to focus on documenting the atrocities being committed in Somalia, she remained supportive despite her own internal reservations. But how long could that continue, how long could she sacrifice her own happiness and her own needs for his ambitions?

She put up a good fight. She tried, she tried hard. Too late did Matthew realize how much she had tried for him. And there was a part of him that knew that her leaving was inevitable. Because if she didn't, he would've just continued to take her for granted. That was his greatest sin. That was what he was paying for now.

He would never admit it to his friends, for they would chastise him for being a complete and utter idiot, but he had promised himself that he would suffer at least as long as Lavinia had. One year simply wasn't enough. He didn't have the right to be happy. Not yet. Not even close. His spontaneous encounter with Mary Crawley didn't help. God, what was he thinking? And a movie star no less, how much of a cliché could he be?

He tried to force the memory out of his mind. He tried to forget about her by focusing on his guilt over Lavinia. But it wasn't working. Something about that ethereal and perfect stranger kept pushing her way back into his thoughts. It didn't help that he sat starting at the pictures from the morning's shoot opened in Photoshop. God, she was beautiful.

"Sorry, I'm late," a commanding female voice said, snapping him out of his trance.

_Sure, you are._

Minimize. Matthew quickly sat up in his chair and looked up from his laptop. An older blonde woman with a severe stare, dark lipstick, and razor straight hair sat across from him. This was Emily Ross, his art director for the Mary Crawley shoot for Rolling Stone magazine. They didn't get along, Matthew had never had to work with an art director back in his war journalism days.

Matthew turned his laptop around to show Emily the photos. She browsed through them casually with a stoic expression on her face. She either didn't like them or liked them and was just trying to hide it.

"Well… that's Mary Crawley, alright," she commented. "That's that signature ethereal stare."

"What can you do? That's her look," Matthew said as he casually threw his hands into the air.

"I was hoping you could get a little more out of her," Emily said as she leaned back into her seat.

"Sorry to disappoint," Matthew said sarcastically. "Is this not going to work?"

"It's usable, but nothing spectacular," she replied. "I was hoping your years of staring down Afghani drug lords would prove useful here. But apparently you're just as afraid of her as any other photographer."

"I'm not afraid of her," he said. He lied.

"These photos tell a different story. You either let her take control of the shoot or you just weren't interested," Emily said as she began to scroll the photos once again.

Matthew ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He held his tongue. He needed the job even if his boss was an insufferable bitch.

"Well now… these are much better," she said as she continued to browse through the photos. "When did you take these? I don't think I approved these concepts, but I like them…"

It took him a few moments to realize what had just happened. He initially thought that she had just reached the photos of Mary on the couch or a different outfit but once Emily began commenting on how sexy Mary looked and how different these shots were, he immediately realized what she was actually looking at. He panicked and snatched the laptop away from her.

"Those… are… private," Matthew said nervously.

Emily's look of befuddlement soon melted into something more sinister. And she was quite sinister looking to begin with.

"I see…" she said knowingly. "You surprise me Mr. Crawley. I didn't think you could actually crack the ice queen, nevermind get her into your bed."

"That's not what happened," Matthew said.

"Well whatever may or may not have happened… those are great!" she said as she pointed to his laptop.

"You can't use those ones…" Matthew said nervously. "Those are… those are private."

"That's a shame… because in those photos, is a cover…" Emily said with a raised eyebrow.

* * *

><p>Mary stepped out of the audition room looking a little flustered. She tried to maintain her composure but the way she held her arms close to her sides with her palms facing down and tightened knuckles gave away her frustration. Rose, Edith, and Claudia jumped out of their seats and rushed to Mary.<p>

"How did it go?" Rose asked excitedly as she tried to stop herself from jumping up and down.

"A rushed flight across the Atlantic for this…" Mary said as she tried to contain her obvious frustration. "I've been doing this for eight years... do I really still have to audition for roles?"

"Darling, you said you wanted more serious parts," Claudia said sternly. "Well, those require auditions. But if you just want to play the pretty girl, that can be arranged as well. God knows, you and I both could be making a lot more money if that's what you wanted."

"No, no," Mary said as she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. "I'm grateful. I am… just not having the best day."

"You'll get the next one," Edith said as put her hand on Mary's arm.

"Thank you," Mary said with a smile. "Now, can we get out of here?"

"Absolutely," Edith answered.

"Late dinner?" Mary asked as she looked around.

"Sorry, darling, got to get home to the husband," Claudia said as she reached in and gave Mary a hug before she left.

"I can't go either," Rose said with a frown. "Daddy's in town and I promised I'd see him before he left in the morning."

"What about you, Edith?" Mary asked despondently.

"Oh, alright," Edith said with a smile. "But only because you look so pathetic right now."

* * *

><p><em>Mary slid her feet back into her heels and forced them on. Where was that dress again? She scanned the room for it. It wasn't there. But perhaps it was behind her. She dared not look. He was still standing there, possibly buttoning up his shirt. God, she wished she hadn't answered that phone. Who knows what they would've been doing at that very moment if she had chose just to ignore the call. Moaning her lungs out? Digging her nails into his shoulder? Locking her ankles together, hanging onto him for dear life? Stop it! Stop it! Stop thinking about that now. It wasn't helpful and she was being unfaithful to Tony.<em>

_She eventually found her dress, in the living room. Feeling rather shy suddenly, she grabbed her dress, took it into the bathroom, and quickly took off his shirt and put on her dress. Stepping out of the bathroom she found him waiting for her. She offered him a friendly, but plainly awkward smile. He replied with a smile of his own, but unlike hers, his was charming and confident._

_He helped her put on her blazer. Mary had almost forgotten that she brought it to the party. Last night seemed like so long ago. She felt as those she had known him for a year rather than a day._

"_I hate to ask you this…" Mary said as she turned to face him._

"_But you would like to keep what just happened a secret," Matthew said, completing her thought._

_Mary looked up at him embarrassed._

"_Of course, I understand," Matthew said softly._

"_Thank you," Mary replied with an apologetic look._

_She pushed herself up onto her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek._

"Are you going to check that?" Edith said, knocking Mary out of her daydream.

It took Mary a moment to realize what Edith meant. She had been daydreaming again. She found it hard to focus today. Maybe it was the flight, maybe it was the late hour but she had been distracted all day. She didn't know why, or rather, she didn't want to admit why. Mary picked up the phone and checked the message.

"What's with you today?" Edith asked as she dug her spoon into the ice cream in front of her.

"I'm sorry," Mary said apologetically.

Mary had deliberately chosen an empty restaurant for them to have dinner. She didn't want to deal with any fans, or paparazzi, or god forbid, her "friends". She simply wanted to have a quiet meal with her sister. And as nice as it was to share a meal, catch up on family gossip, and hear news from Edith's myriad business ventures, she found herself drifting in and out of the conversation.

"Who's it from?" Edith asked as she licked her spoon.

"Rose," Mary answered softly as she scrolled through the message.

_YOU LOOK HOT! _The email read.

Mary's eyes widened as she scrolled through the email. This did not go unnoticed by Edith. She snatched the phone out of Mary's hand.

"Oh my god!" Edith exclaimed as she saw the black and white photos of Mary in her underwear.

"Edith!" Mary said.

"You never told me that it was _this _kind of photos," Edith said holding back her laughter.

"It wasn't," Mary said as she snatched her phone back from Edith. "This was… a private project."

Edith replied with only a knowing look as she took another bite of her ice cream.

"Can you not eat that in front of me?" Mary whined.

"Why? Do you have to look stunning for another photoshoot like that one?" Edith said with a giggle.

"That's not funny," Mary said as her cheeks began to glow red.

"To be honest, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner," Edith commented.

"Excuse me?" Mary asked indignantly.

"Don't get me wrong, I respect your decisions," Edith explained. "But why I haven't you been on the cover of Maxim yet? Isn't that some sort of rite of passage in your line of work?"

"Oh god, not you too," Mary said as she rolled her eyes.

"I'm just saying," Edith said as she held her hands up. "Better late than never."

"This isn't _late_," Mary said.

"So who's the photographer?" Edith asked.

"Why?" Mary shot back.

"Just… curious," Edith said gently.

"It's an odd thing to be curious about," Mary said.

"I've seen you in a thousand and one photos, none like that," Edith commented. "He must be talented."

She remembered his breath upon her thighs.

_He was. Oh, he definitely was._

* * *

><p>After dinner, Edith drove to Tony's townhouse. After giving Mary a hand with her luggage, Edith gave Mary a hug and departed. Mary unlocked the door and let herself in. The place was completely dark and empty. She turned on the lights to reveal the tasteful mid-century modern suite within. There was a note on the foyer table with Tony's letterhead.<p>

_Gone to St. Petersburg on business, will be back in a few days. Tony._

Well that was just great. A big cold empty house, and no boyfriend to keep her warm. She kicked off her heels as she made her way into the kitchen. She rummaged through the fridge just for the sake of doing it. She wasn't hungry. She did however crack open a bottle of Chardonnay. Once she had ditched her dress and changed into a pair of fresh underwear, she grabbed her glass of wine and snuggled into her bed. Tony's bed. When was the last time they had slept in it together? She browsed through the photos again, this time with a little alcohol to loosen her up. She did have to admit, _she looked good_.

Some of them were quite revealing. Some of them featured her in very compromising poses. And some of them were very close, it was plain to anyone who saw them that Matthew had to be right on top of her to get those shots. But beyond that, she looked… real. Every picture depicted her not as some distant majestic queen but as a real human being, with honest emotions. She looked vulnerable, scared, aroused, dazed, confident, seductive, and in a few of the shots, a combination of all of those qualities. She had never seen herself look like that in photos before. She had only seen those expressions in private mirrors.

Once she got to the end of the set of photos, she noticed a message at the bottom.

_Call me._

Mary wondered what that was about. Of course she had thought about contacting him again. She had been distracting her all day. If nothing else, she thought she should at least give him a piece of her mind and tell him how he screwed up her audition today. But she had left things a little awkward with him and wondered if it was too soon. But there it was, a direct invitation.

She mustered up her courage and took a few more swigs of her wine before she dialed his number. It rang a few times.

"Hello?" he said.

Just hearing his voice made her heart skip a beat.

"Hi Matthew, it's me."

**A/N:** Wow, you guys really seem to love the hot stuff. I'm going to enjoy teasing you all ;P. Don't worry, I'll keep this story moving along briskly. And as always, love the reviews! And thank you guys for all the follows and favourites.

**IMPORTANT NOTICE 1:** I'm looking for a little bit of help in regards to this story. If you were born and lived in the UK (preferably England, but you can tell me if live is vastly different across the UK or not) between 1985 and 1990, please PM me, I'd like to ask you a few questions.

**IMPORTANT NOTICE 2:** Well I guess this is a bit of a spoiler but since this isn't really a plot-driven fic, I don't think it matters that much. Just out of curiosity who would you cast as the next Bond? I'd cast Idris Elba but that's just me. Or maybe I should just make up a guy, I dunno yet. Post them in your reviews or just PM me your suggestions.


	9. Interlude 1

_Interlude_

"Mary?" Matthew said after a few moments of silence.

"Don't sound so surprised," Mary said as she relaxed into her bed.

"Well… I… I didn't think I'd hear from you again." Matthew stuttered out.

"You think I'm that rude?" Mary asked.

"No, that's not what I meant," Matthew replied.

"Then what did you mean?" Mary asked playfully. Her wine was starting to take effect.

"Mary…" Matthew let out.

"What?" Mary asked with verve.

"Can we act like adults?" Matthew asked.

"I wasn't aware that we weren't," Mary replied playfully.

"So we're just going to pretend that what happened, what almost happened, didn't or doesn't matter," Matthew said trying to contain his annoyance under a neutral tone.

"No, I didn't mean it like…" Mary tried to say before she lost her train of thoughts. She was struck by his bluntness but she supposed that Matthew was the type of person that was less than patient with the usual games of courtship.

"Fine, we don't have to talk about it," Matthew said with a hint of muted disappointment. "Anyways, I wanted you to call because I have news about the photos."

"I'll admit, they are beyond fantastic," Mary said as she scrolled through them again.

"That's just it, Emily thought so as well. She said that one of them is a potential cover photo," Matthew said nervously.

"Wait… the nasty art director lady from Rolling Stone?" Mary asked.

"Oh, I'm glad I'm not the only who thinks she was kind of a bitch," Matthew said with a light chuckle.

"Why did you show her those pictures?" Mary asked in an irate tone.

"I didn't," Matthew replied in a panic. "They accidentally came up as I was showing her the photos from the studio shoot."

"Accidentally…" Mary repeated incredulously.

"Yes, I swear," Matthew said severely.

Mary couldn't help but let out a little giggle. "And I thought you were the one that was mad at me brushing off what happened between us earlier."

"That's a separate issue," Matthew said. "I need you to know that I didn't do this intentionally."

There was a moment of silence between them.

"I believe you," Mary finally said.

"Do you really?" Matthew asked.

"Yes, I do," Mary insisted. "Why do you think that everyone is prone to hate you?"

"That's an embarrassing question with an even more embarrassing answer," Matthew replied.

"I don't want our pictures to be used for the magazine," Mary said.

"Even if it gets you the cover?" Matthew asked with genuine surprise in his voice.

"Do you think I should do it?" Mary asked.

"Me, you're asking my opinion?" Matthew asked back.

"Your opinion matters to me," Mary said softly.

"Why?" Matthew asked.

"Don't do that, Matthew…" Mary said as she bit down on her lip. "Please, don't do that."

"What," Matthew asked again.

Mary put her wine glass down on her night table and sat up in her bed. "You know I find this… irritating and irresistible at the same time don't you?"

"Now who's being blunt?" Matthew retorted.

"I hate your self-loathing, it's annoying. Even your friends are tired of it. But you don't care. You keep doing it. You simply do not give a fuck what other people think of you. Which means that it isn't for show. It's genuine. You're still suffering her." Mary blurted out, much faster than she had intended to. "Which makes it that much more romantic. And I hate… I hate… that I love that."

Matthew didn't respond. He couldn't. He could hear a few sniffles through the speaker.

"Men like you…" Mary said slowly as she took a few breaths to steady her voice. "Men like you aren't supposed to exist."

"So…" Matthew said finally, after another long silence, "what are you saying?"

"I'm saying your opinion matters and stop pretending like it doesn't," Mary replied viciously.

"You can't blame me for being surprised that a girl like you would care at all what I thought in this situation," Matthew said.

"Yes, I can," Mary said. "And I do. Because I've made it perfectly clear all along that I didn't talk to you to toy with you or just so I can could have a turn to voice my own opinions. I listened to you, really. And if you can't recognize that then that's your own fault."

"I don't think you've made anything perfectly clear," Matthew replied stoically.

"Well…" Mary said as her tone softened, "I don't know what you want me to say."

"That's what I thought," Matthew said.

"That's not fair! I wasn't the only one in your bed, Matthew!" Mary said as her frustrated grew once again.

"Look, I'm not blaming you for wanting… whatever you're looking for," Matthew said in a passive tone. "It'd be nice if you could figure it out before you involve me again."

"Who says there will ever be an again?" Mary asked.

"Oh good, I'm glad we've cleared that up," Matthew said.

"Why are you being so hostile?" Mary asked.

"I'm not the one being hostile," Matthew replied calmly.

"Passive aggressive then," Mary retorted. "Just because you speak in a more controlled register doesn't mean that you're being any nicer than me."

"I'm glad that you can admit that you're not always nice," Matthew said.

"I bet you suspected that of me all along," Mary said defensively. "You've already made up your mind about me before we even met. It doesn't matter what I do or how I act. You're going to interpret my actions in the worst light anyways."

"And you're actions were so pure," Matthew replied sarcastically.

"What do you want from me, Matthew?" Mary let out.

"I want you to admit what you what happened wasn't some crazy accident!" Matthew said as the volume of his voice rose to match hers. "That you felt something more than lust!"

"Fine! You fucking douchebag, I admit it!" Mary yelled into her phone. "Look this didn't just happen to you, this happened to me too. I'm also trying to process it. So please, enough with your self-righteous indignation…"

They were silent again.

"That's not… quite what I was expecting," Matthew finally said.

"Then what?" Mary asked.

"I honestly didn't think it was real for you," Matthew said.

"You're such an asshole," Mary said with an exasperated laugh.

"I'm sorry," Matthew said.

"You should be," Mary replied.

"No, I am…" Matthew said as his voice lowered to a whisper once again. "I'm defensive… instinctively and annoyingly so…"

"It's alright," Mary said as her voice softened as well. "I guess I shouldn't have let it get that far. I have a boyfriend…"

"You don't act like it," Matthew said with a light chuckle.

"Oh and how I am supposed to act?" Mary asked suspiciously.

"You don't seem like you're in love," Matthew said.

"Well… there's more than one kind of love," Mary said as she tried to maintain her neutral voice.

"Is what you have, the kind you want?" Matthew asked.

"It's the one that's right for me," Mary stated.

"And how would you know?" Matthew asked.

"I just do," Mary replied bluntly.

"I don't think you know what you're missing," Matthew said. "Either that, or you're just afraid."

"Like you?" Mary retorted. "Afraid and distrusting."

"You're not that different from me," Matthew said.

"Is that right?" Mary asked with an intrigued voice.

"You're just better at hiding it. It's not like you don't have walls," Matthew said. "Does Tony know you have walls?"

"Suddenly, you know me so well," Mary said dismissively.

"I didn't say that," Matthew replied.

"You pretty much did and I can tell you right now, there's much that you don't know about me," Mary said. "I'm not just the pretty girl on your TV and your laptop. Hard as it may be to believe, there are parts of my life that aren't for tabloid consumption."

"I don't doubt it. But I know loneliness when I see it…" Matthew replied. "Tell me, you're not lonely."

Mary didn't answer right away.

"What time is it there?" Mary asked.

"It's seven in the evening," Matthew answered. "So what?"

"So, certain things just shouldn't be admitted in the daylight hours," Mary answered.

"I can see a little sunlight," Matthew said as he looked out the window.

"My life is how I want it to be." Mary evaded.

"You're just as scared as I am…" Matthew said with a satisfied grin. "You're just a better actor."

"I should hope so," Mary replied with a chuckle.

"Trust me, it's better on the other side," Matthew said.

"Really? Because you seem so incredibly well adjusted," Mary said sarcastically.

"I didn't say I was well adjusted but I don't regret what has happened, even if it hurts now, even if I can't sleep anymore," Matthew said.

"And you think Lavinia is worth all that?" Mary asked before realizing what she had said.

Matthew didn't reply.

"I… I… saw the photo book beside your TV," Mary tried to explain. "Her name was on the spine, what could I do?"

"Did you look through it?" Matthew asked.

"She's beautiful," Mary answered.

"That she was…" Matthew said despondently.

"How long do you plan on suffering her?" Mary asked.

"Who says I am?" Matthew asked.

"Please... don't insult me," Mary replied.

"As long as she suffered me," Matthew answered with a sigh.

"How noble," Mary said sarcastically.

"Hey, fuck you," Matthew responded with a chuckle.

"Are you doing this for her? Or are you doing this in spite of her?" Mary asked.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You really think this will make her happy?" Mary replied. "You really think this is what she wants for you?"

"I wouldn't know," Matthew answered.

"I think you do. Just because she doesn't talk to you anymore doesn't mean she wants this for you. I wouldn't…" Mary said.

"And what would you want for me?" Matthew asked curiously.

"I guess… for you to try to be happy again. Despite what you think, you do deserve another chance at love," Mary said. "It's not a betrayal for you to move on."

"And it's not a betrayal for you to let Rolling Stone use those photos for the cover," Matthew responded.

"So you think I should do it?" Mary asked.

"Take a chance," Matthew said.

Mary took in those words. She closed her eyes, smiled, and gently shook her head.

"I will if you will."

**A/N:** Just a quick comment about the formatting. Because of the nature of the distance between them and their busy careers, they will inevitably spend a lot of time apart. So I've decided to divide the story into pivotal vignettes (e.g. Part I: Dinner Party) serving as the primary advancement of what little plot there is with interlinking lighter interludes such as this one to further their character development even if nothing is happening.


	10. Chapter 9

**Part II: Clubbing**

_IX_

Mary: Thanks for the advice, asshole! (4:55 PM)

* * *

><p><em>Six weeks later<em>

He had a charming smile, even if it was always the same one, practiced and perfected, even if Matthew had seen it a thousand times before on television and in movies. It didn't matter, it didn't take away from his effortless charisma. He had to admit, he understood the Clooney charm now.

And it wasn't just the smile, nor was it just his handsome good looks. No, that part made him a little jealous. It was his easy disposition, the way he could stride into a room and instantly make everyone into his friend, even those who were utterly starstruck by him, like his grips Matthew had with him on this particular shoot. Even those who were committed to being unimpressed by the man's presence, like Matthew himself.

The shoot itself was rather uneventful. George sat for a few test shots, Matthew made the necessary adjustments to the lights and the his camera setup. There weren't any crazy poses, there were no elaborate wind machines; taking portraits of distinguished men, who knew how to act around a camera and people may possibly be the easiest job in the world. They didn't need Matthew to do this. They didn't even need need a part-time mommy photographer, they could've done this shoot with a 16 year old kid and with an iPhone.

After Matthew took his last shot, he gave George a simple nod, signalling that they were done for the day, before he made his way to the laptop to review the photos.

"So, you're the new guy," George said, taking Matthew's attention away from his laptop.

"Uhh… I guess so," Matthew replied cordially.

"Well you're definitely not Annie," George said as he made his way to the table where Matthew had his laptop set up.

"Annie works across the street," Matthew said.

"Right," George said with a chuckle. "Sometimes, I forget it. Hey, have you done any work for Vanity Fair?"

"I'm… actually, quite new at this," Matthew said as he scratched the back of his head. "Mainly been working with Rolling Stone right now."

"Where were you before?" George asked.

"Somalia… Egypt… I covered Tahrir Square, but mainly Gaza and Afghanistan," Matthew answered.

"That's a… different kind of photography," George blithely commented.

"Yes it is," Matthew said as he returned his attention back to his laptop.

"Have you ever seen Three Kings?" George asked.

"Yeah," Matthew replied.

"What'd you think?" George asked keenly.

"It was good," Matthew said as he gave George a quick nod of approval.

"No, but what did you _think_?" George asked again as he leaned in.

"I don't know, man," Matthew said with a shrug. "I was twelve when the Gulf War happened. I was into Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles at the time. I wasn't exactly doing any in depth coverage on the ground."

"Hey, can I see the photos?" George said as he leaned towards the laptop.

"Sure," Matthew said as he stepped away from his computer. He had been learning on the job recently. It was odd for him to show his work to people who requested it as he had never done so before. But apparently this was how it was done in his new industry and while it caught him off guard, showing photos in their pre-processed state, apparently that's just how things were done.

Matthew watched George inspect the photos one by one. He hadn't yet had a bad review in the short time that he had been working at the magazine, there was a first time for everything. And it would be a huge blow to his career and reputation if his bit of negative feedback came from none other than George motherfucking Clooney. Luckily however, for the most part, he seemed amusement or happy with the photos.

"These are pretty damn good," he commented as he finished scrolling through the photos. "I look important in these, don't you think?"

"You don't think you're important?" Matthew asked.

"Well… serious then," George said. "You know… like Obama or Ban Ki-Moon."

* * *

><p><em>She thought he would've calmed down by now. Maybe not calmed down, he was quite calm in fact. Rather, warmed up. But instead he sat at the table, eating his breakfast in silence while reading the news on his iPad. He made quite a show of it, cutting up his breakfast sausages into perfect little sections and dividing up the food on his plate with his knife and fork, chewing rhythmically, as if making a point. A point about propriety. He thought he was being subtle by not saying anything. He was, in fact, incapable of being subtle.<em>

_Mary and Tony sat awkwardly in his dining room with a large breakfast in front of them. Mary didn't touch a thing. Occassionally, his cook would come in with fresh coffee and tea. Mary tried to play off the tension but she'd have to be a fool not to notice it. She offered Mary a sympathetic smile before leaving once again. Of course, she was on Mary's side. Girls stick up for each other, but also, Mary lived in that house, spent more time with and ate more of her cooking than Tony ever did._

_He didn't acknowledge her presence, not really. He asked her to pass the salt but said little else. It was infuriating but Mary was done fighting. All they had done for the past week was fight and she was absolutely tired of it. It was just a damn magazine cover. She wasn't even close to nude in it. Matthew had approved a sexy photo, sure, but it wasn't close to risque, not compared to modern standards. Nearly half of her body was wrapped up in a white duvet, and she had her underwear on underneath. It was eye catching obviously, but that was more due to her striking features and his skill in capturing her alluring expression than her lack of clothing. _

_Still Tony didn't see it that way. It was rather shocking to her. He didn't strike her as a puritan. No doubt, he had rather refined tastes and had a distaste for vulgarity but she never thought of him as being a prudish conservative. But this was the Rolling Stone, counter-cultural and unceasingly cool in its heyday, a respected mainstay of the old guard of print publications in the modern era. These pictures weren't for Nuts magazine._

"_I think we should talk about this," Mary said as she sat still in her chair._

"_We have talked about this," Tony said in a calm voice. "We've talked about this a lot."_

"_I think we should continue talking about this," Mary insisted._

"_What's done is done, no sense arguing about it now," Tony replied as he cut into his eggs._

"_But you're still cross with me," Mary said._

"_What do you want me to be?" Tony said as he put down his knife and fork. "Am I supposed to be happy that my girlfriend bore herself on the cover of Rolling Stone? You said it was your choice and I agree, it is. But I'm allowed to have an opinion."_

"_Can't you at least be supportive?" Mary asked._

"_I am being supportive," Tony retorted. "This is me being supportive."_

"_No, this is you holding a grudge," Mary said._

"_I don't understand what's gotten into you, Mary," Tony said in a softer tone. "This isn't you. Ever since you got back from New York. You've been acting differently."_

"_And what exactly do you think you know about me?" Mary asked defensively._

"_I don't want to get into this conversation about my work and my travels," Tony said. "This is who I am. You knew this when we first started. And you aren't exactly the doting wife waiting for me at home every night are you?"_

"_I'm not talking about when you're gone," Mary said. "I understand that your work requires you to travel, so does my work. But I'm not your trophy."_

"_I have been a good boyfriend," Tony said aggressively. "I have provided for you, I attend your red carpets and I go to your charity events."_

"_I know that," Mary said._

"_Then why exactly did you feel the need to pose like that for the cover?" Tony asked._

"_I didn't do this to spite you, Tony!" Mary replied. "This photo has nothing to do with you!"_

"_I beg to differ," Tony challenged._

"_You don't own me, Tony!" Mary replied loudly as a grimace of consternation overtook her. "We're partners in this, I'm not your slave."_

"_That's not what I said, and you know it!" Tony barked back._

"_The truth is, I wanted to do the photos and I like how they turned out," Mary tried to explain calmly. "Even if you disagree with my decision. It is still my decision and I expect you to support me. And frankly Tony, I never thought of you as a prude."_

"_There's a difference between being a prude and having a sense of propriety," Tony said._

"_That's not for you to decide, that's for me to decide," Mary said._

"_But you didn't even consult me," Tony said._

"_Tony, I'm not a Russian mail order bride," Mary said softly. "I can make decisions on my own."_

"_Of course…" Tony said. "But I wish you would include me more in your life. I feel like you're drifting away."_

It took a good shove that almost knocked Mary completely off her seat to shake her from her memories. She had been drifting in and out of her thoughts all day long. Her fight with Tony still plagued her memories. _Stupid Matthew, it was all his fault._ It took every trick Rose had to keep her on task when they were filming earlier. Typical, it was the last day of shooting on a short film that Mary had signed onto and she was blowing every take. She hadn't been on the top of her game throughout the production but she managed to deliver a few strong performances when it counted. It was a shame that she could barely focus on the director's words when they were in the home stretch.

Production had ran long because of it. It was originally supposed to be a two week shoot, but with the paparazzi suddenly hounding Mary at every turn, ever since the release of the Rolling Stone cover, and her apparent inability to concentrate, it took a whole additional week to finish her scenes. She had desperately wished to have resolved things with Tony before heading off for the shoot. She hated working while her personal life was a mess. But that was not to be. Tony didn't seem at all interested in a quick fix.

The cover had changed a lot for Mary and quite quickly. When she signed onto the production, it another run at Sundance, hoping that someone would notice her more serious work, wishing that someone would see something in her. She didn't mind playing the pretty, if not entirely paper thin, caricatures of English women in mid-tier Hollywood productions, truly she didn't, but how long was that supposed to last. She would be thirty in two years and she would be replaced by a younger generation soon enough. But with the release of the magazine and the cover, everything changed. Offers started coming in left and right, Rose came on set every morning with a brand new stack of scripts. Mary had to take calls with Claudia and perspective producers in between every take. Much to the annoyance of the hot headed director.

Suddenly, Mary was the new it girl. Well, the new it girl, once again. She hadn't been this hot since she was twenty two, when she made her American debut in a truly awful romantic comedy called A Special Charm. If there was ever a time for her to have struck while the iron was hot, it was then. But she let the moment pass, she was too naive, too "principled" to sell herself on her sex appeal then. She wanted to be a serious actress, capable of doing stage and screen work. _What a stupid girl._

Since then she had built a tepid, but still very respectable, career. She was not unsuccesful. She had a dozen or so movies to her name, a bunch of TV appearances, and had starred in a few stage productions. She was by no means untalented, quite the opposite, she could sing and dance with the best of them. After all, she had actually went to school for dance rather than theatre. She had a sizeable fanbase, a modest but loyal twitter following, a fansite devoted to her. She dutifully posted on Instagram and occasionally wrote on her blog. By every metric of respectability, she was the model of a serious professional actress.

When production finally wrapped, Rose had convinced Mary that she needed to unwind before heading back to England. Mary was hesitant, and for a while, downright defiant, to the idea with the way things were left with Tony. But as the hour drew closer and Mary's memories of the toxic environment at home came back to her, she relented and allowed Rose to drag her for a girl's night out. Rose called up the _Old Faithfuls_, a gaggle of trust fund socialites from Rose's wilder days to take Mary out clubbing. Matthew hated them but for the sake of Rose, tolerated their incessant bickering and inevitable catfights. Now it was Mary's turn to experience Rose's old cohort.

Naturally, Mary got along with them better. She wasn't ideologically opposed to the privileged classes the way Matthew seemed to be (despite his own apparent wealth) but she did find them to be unceasingly vapid and their choice of dress utterly tactless. What's worse is that they bullied Mary into dressing like one of them before they went out, six inch heels, blown out hair, and a dress that left nothing to the imagination.

And despite her initial reluctance, Mary did end up having a good time. The club was expectedly loud and sweaty. It was completely dark except for the green strobing lights that flashed rhythmically with the music. The girls formed a circle around Mary as she danced and made sure that no guy got to her without the approval of the pride first.

All seemed to be going well, until Mary sat down at their booth for a rest. But as soon as she had a moment to clear her head, the fight with Tony immediately rushed in to fill the empty void. She couldn't shake the feeling. She hated that they fought. They had never fought quite like that before. But what she hated more was how unreasonable he was being. This was the 21st century and Rolling Stone cover was nowhere near as risqué as he made it out to be. It wasn't Hustler. Even if he disagreed with her choice, she found it utterly infuriating that he couldn't just support her. That's what a good boyfriend was supposed to do after all!

"Come on, Mary. Not now," Rose yelled, trying to be audible over the thumping music. She had been worried about her the whole day and thought that she had finally snapped Mary out of her funk. It was disappointing for her to see Mary slide back into it.

"I'm sorry, Rose," Mary said as she shook her head and returned her attention to reality. "I know, I know. I'm being a bit of a buzzkill. I appreciate the night out, truly."

"Do, you? Because you don't sound like you're having much fun," Rose asked.

"I am," Mary replied. "It's just this thing with Tony."

"Fuck him! He's an asshole! Your cover was H-O-T hot and if he can't see that, he's blind!" Rose screamed.

"I don't like fighting with my boyfriend," Mary said.

"Then he shouldn't fight with you!" Rose replied. "Can't he see what this cover has done for your career! Claudia has flooded my apartment with scripts! Everyone wants you right now! And if he doesn't, well he's an idiot!"

"I guess so," Mary said softly.

"You know who does want you?" Rose said cheekily.

"The guy with the goatee at the bar?" Mary said rhetorically with a slight chuckle before sipping her drink.

"Matthew," Rose said with a devious smile.

"He said that?" Mary said as swerved to face Rose, almost dropping her drink.

"I can tell," Rose replied simply.

"Ugh, I don't even want to think about him right now," Mary said.

"You know, we should invite him down," Rose said.

"No!" Mary replied fiercely. "This is girl's night, remember? No dicks!"

"What's girl's night if there are no dicks involved?" Rose asked.

"It's not going to be Matthew…'s," Mary replied.

Just then, one of Mary's friends scurried up to their booth.

"Come on, break's over," the girl said as she grabbed Mary by the hand. "Let's go."

Mary looked to Rose with an expression that said _help me_, but Rose only replied an befuddled shrug. Rose waited for a moment to make sure that Mary had truly disappeared into the crowd of dancers. She then pulled out her phone, opened the address book, and began a group text.

Rose MacClare: Mary Crawley, spotted at Marquee. (11:42 PM)

* * *

><p>Matthew was the only one left in the studio. He had let his assistants go early as he didn't need them for the backing up of photos. He didn't really want them in the first place but Emily had insisted this time. He stayed late, as he didn't have much to do that night. Tom was out of town visiting family in Ireland, John and Anna were busy, and Rose had also been out of town for work. And there was nothing more boring than processing portraits and he knew that's what awaited him for the next couple of days. He'd rather get a headstart on it now. He worked best at nights and if he remained vigilant and worked efficiently, he could hope to be done by lunch time the next day.<p>

It wasn't difficult work making George Clooney look presentable. He touched up a few blemishes here and a few stray hairs there but there was nothing drastic to be done with the photos. By the time mid-night rolled around he was nearly halfway through his stack. But it was around that time that he got a call.

He checked the caller ID to see who it was. It was Rose. That was odd, what did she want on a Thursday night?

Matthew answered the phone.

"Hey Rose, what's up?" Matthew said as he put her on speaker and continued to work on his photos.

"Oh, not too much, hey are you in town?" Rose asked.

"Where else would I be?" Matthew asked sarcastically. "Hey! Guess who I got to shoot today? George Clooney! Yeah, that's right! Danny motherfucking Ocean was in my studio today!"

"That's great, Matthew," Rose said sarcastically, "I'm so happy for your man crash but I have favour to ask."

"Wait, do I hear music in the background? Are you at a party? I thought you were working?" Matthew asked.

"Production just wrapped, can you help me or not?" Rose asked.

"Ugh, I'm in the middle of something right now." Matthew said with a sigh. "What do you need?"

"I need you to come get me," Rose said.

"What?! What happened this time?" Matthew asked as his voice suddenly spiked with concern.

"No, nothing like that! I'm at Marquee right now," Rose explain.

"Oh well, at least it's not some dive bar in Munich," Matthew said he rolled his eyes.

"There's paparazzi outside," Rose said.

"Once, just once, could you and the gaggle of witches not flash your tits when you go out partying?" Matthew asked.

"It's not like that," Rose said. "It's Mary! She's here."

Matthew paused for a moment.

"Is… is she alright?" Matthew asked as his voice softened.

"She's pretty drunk!" Rose said. "And I really don't want to press to catch her like this."

"Perhaps then you shouldn't have taken her out clubbing!" Matthew said with an irate tone.

"She was having a rough couple of weeks! She needed to unwind!" Rose yelled back.

"Really? A rough couple of weeks? Because all I've heard is Mary Crawley this and Mary Crawley that, ever since that cover came out," Matthew said.

"She's grateful," Rose said.

"Not according to her text," Matthew replied.

"Are you going to help me or not?" Rose asked.

"What do you expect me to do? I can't fight off a whole flock of paparazzi! And quite frankly, those are my people," Matthew said.

"Just because they work with cameras does not make them your people!" Rose said.

"Fuck…" Matthew said as his head fell into his hands. He used his palms to rub his eyes. "You know she's not going to be happy to see me right?"

"Oh Matthew, don't be an idiot," Rose said.


	11. Chapter 10

_X_

He was both fuming and nervous by the time he got home. Bailing Rose out of trouble was always one of his least favourite things to do to begin with but with the addition of Mary Crawley, the task became that much heavier. A thousand and one feelings overcame him, feelings that he didn't want to acknowledge and certainly wasn't ready to deal with again. On some level he may have known that he would have to see Mary again, given his connection to Rose and Rose's job with Mary, but he convinced himself that his night with Mary was nothing more than one of those once in a blue moon encounters normal people had with celebrities sometimes. It was an amusing story that, years from now, he would be able to tell and dinner with friends or at a cocktail party, something that would both inspire incredulous looks of suspicion but also generate a tepid amount of envy and respect. He didn't think it would become a regular thing, that she would ever become an occasional, nevermind persistent, fixture in his life.

He put away connected on of his hard drives to his computer and began to back it up onto his cloud service and dumping another copy into his home network storage. He then put the second hard drive in his safe. He was meticulous about securing his photos to the same degree and excessiveness of his cleaning. Of his many neurosis and ticks that he had developed after his divorce his attention to detail pertaining to work and cleanliness was not among the most harmful. It had benefitted him well. After an intern tripped a breaker at the studio, Emily thought they had lost a days worth of photos, before Matthew had managed to calm her down and show her his backups. Their working relationship had been much less antagonistic since that incident.

He rummaged around his apartment for around 20 minutes trying to think of a way to pull this impossible escape off. Rose had gotten herself into a fair amount of trouble of the years but she was never dumb. In fact, despite her privileged disposition, her ditsy affect, and her general naivete, she was smart enough to know what was a tenable situation and what wasn't. Getting stuck in a high end nightclub with paparazzi on the outside, was not tenable. How was anyone supposed to escape a place like that unnoticed? And what was she thinking getting Mary into a situation like that?

He thought about how the pros would handle it. He remember tagging along with some Green Berets once on a rescue mission outside of Jalalabad and he tried to recall some of the details of the stories that John used to tell when Matthew and Tom managed to get enough drinks in him. Although, who knows if any of those were accurate. It was no use, he hadn't ever seen any of these extractions with his own eyes and even if he did, there was no chance he could actually pull one off, especially by himself.

Mary's recent surge in popularity and notoriety and put her on a different level of fame. She needed more than just a personal assistant. She needed private security at this point. But that was a problem he would have to scold her about later. He had to get her out of that club now. It didn't escape his notice how seriously he took this favour. He didn't have to do anything Rose said. It was strictly voluntary and frankly Rose should face the consequences of her recklessness for once. But this was Mary, and perhaps, because of her fame alone, he felt he needed to do this.

And it was at that moment that he had a flash of inspiration. He didn't need to get her out of there unnoticed he just needed to get her out without photos of her. _Well, that changes everything._ He could throw a bit coat over her and escort her out the front door. But he had a better idea.

* * *

><p>He could hear them from a mile away. A crowd of photographers sounded different than a crowd of regular people. He watched as the crowd of cartoonishly dressed paparazzi came into the view. Matthew tapped his cab driver on the shoulder and pointed to the spot where he wanted him to pull over. Matthew ran over the plan once again in his head. Matthew shot Rose a text.<p>

Matthew: I'm outside, be prepared to leave. (12:55 AM)

Rose: Come inside. (12:56 AM)

Matthew sank back into his seat and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He knew what this was. Rose wanted him inside more than she wanted Mary out.

Matthew: How am I supposed to get in? (12:56 AM)

Rose: I'll come get you (12:57 AM)

Matthew shook his head and smiled despite his growing annoyance. He tucked his phone away in his pocket and took out his wallet. He emptied it of all of his cash and tapped the cabbie on the shoulder.

"Here's everything I've got, I need you to wait here until I come out," Matthew said.

"And how long is that?" The cabbie asked.

"Couldn't tell ya," Matthew said with a chuckle. "Hopefully less than half an hour."

The cabbie stared at the wad of cash for a little while. It must've been over three hundred dollars.

"Alright, half an hour? No problem." The cabbie said as he snatched the cash out of Matthew's hands.

Matthew got out of the cab and made his way towards the entrance. He waded through the crowd of paparazzi that were idling by the as he was getting close, one of them grabbed Matthew by the shoulder and forced him to turn around. He was an old timer, long greying hair tied up in a ponytail and goatee, he work a stained t-shirt, and a ridiculous looking photography vest one. He had two big DSLRs with powerful flashes mounted on each. He was the kind of guy that considered his cameras "his guns".

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" The man barked.

"It's cool man, I'm just here for the money," Matthew said as he turned to reveal his little mirrorless camera hanging off his right shoulder.

"Yeah? Well I was here first!" He said as he pointed at Matthew. "Get your amateur shit out of here."

As he tried to push Matthew out of the way, Matthew pushed his hand away and stepped forward pumping him back.

"I'm not one of your dumb hotheaded celebrities," Matthew said calmly. "You are welcome to try to move me. Hell you got a couple of pounds on me and much two much larger, much heavier cameras. But the thing is… I don't really think you want to throw down. See, I got this little camera, I drop it, I got to the store the next day and pick up a new one. You drop that 24-70mm, you drop that 1Dx... and you're out ten grand…"

"You wanna start something?" The man asked.

"Me? No, not at all, I'm just standing here," Matthew said as he threw his hands up. "But here's the more pertinent question… do you want to start something?"

The man looked like he was about to hit Matthew, but he eventually packed off. Just then, Matthew heard Rose's voice.

"Matthew!" she said as she ran towards him.

* * *

><p>Inside the club was just as loud and obnoxious as Matthew feared. But of course this was the kind of place Rose would take Mary for a night out. Rose usually had to compromise when hanging out with Tom and Matthew, but left to her own devices and the <em>Old Faithfuls<em>, they invariably opted for a loud and dark club with overpriced drinks. Matthew dropped his things at coat check before following Rose into the main room.

Immediately, Matthew was hit with the smell of Axe bodyspray and rancid sex. It was completely dark except for the pulsating lasers of green and purple that shot across the room. He soon lost Rose to the multitude of dancers and drunken idiots. It took him several moments to acclimate to his surroundings. He hadn't ever been one for clubbing, he hated the obnoxious music, the tacky drinks, the insufferable pretense to getting bottle service. The few times he had gone clubbing were always on Rose's birthdays where he and Tom made the concession on behalf of the birthday girl's wishes.

After several minutes of wandering through the crowd and circling around the bar, Matthew had all but given up on finding Rose. Why did she even call if she didn't want to leave? Matthew decided that he would do one more lap around the room and if he still couldn't find her, he would leave. She clearly wasn't in any real trouble. And just as he was making his way through the crowd of sweaty bodies and shiny hair bumped into her.

There she was, just inches away. He almost didn't recognize her at first. She was about an inch taller than he remembered. But her brunette hair, her shimmering ivory skin, the sharp piercing stare, it was unmistakable. Mary.

She took a step back once she realized who she had bumped into. It took her another few moments to process it. He was like a ghost or a bad memory. What was he doing here? This didn't seem like Matthew's scene at all. He certainly wasn't dress the part. He looked like he was still dressed in his work clothes. This is so not what she wanted when she mentioned to Rose that she didn't want to return to Tony. Was it?

"What are you doing here?" Mary asked defensively.

"Rose asked me to come," Matthew answered.

"Well… I don't know where she is at the moment," Mary said.

"I'm sure that's by design," Matthew said.

It was the height that threw him off at first. She seemed so much taller than before. But as she stepped and more of her came into view, he remembered. Rose had the same magical ability to grow 5 or 6 inches within a night. What was she dressed as? She certainly didn't look like any Mary Crawley he had ever seen before. The glittering six in heels, the backless dress, so short that it barely covered her butt, there was nothing subtle or understated about this Mary Crawley. She looked like Rose, worse, she looked like one of her friends. And for a moment he thought she should've looked ridiculous. She should've looked like a girl playing dress up. But she did look… hot. And he hated that he thought so.

His lecherous stare didn't escape her notice. He held his gaze for a moment too long and snapped back to attention in the most inauspicious way. She knew that she had hooked him. It was easier than she expected. She wasn't even trying this time. It was a little disappointing that beneath his opaque exterior and his soulful brooding was just another typical man, easily distracted by oiled up legs and some rather obvious cleavage.

She seized the opportunity and grabbed him by his collar and leaned in.

"Dance with me," she whispered into his ear deviously.

Before he could decline, she had already grabbed his hand and led him through a throng of people until they found a little spot for themselves. She was still angry with Matthew for convincing her to let him use the photo for the cover but she wasn't going to be able to make that point here, not with the loud music and various other distractions. But she could make him suffer. She could make him sweat.

She could already feel him shaking. She peaked back at him and saw an expression of utter horror on his face. _Good._ He deserved it. She placed right hand on her thigh and held his left. She began to sway seductively as she leaned back into him. She could feel the pounding of his head on her back. It was only getting faster. He was getting more and more uncomfortable. _Good._ She arched her back and pushed her butt against his crotch and started to grind against him. There was nothing subtle about this anymore. Nevertheless, she felt him stiffen immediately.

A devious and satisfied look appeared on her face as she continued to press into him. She could feel him buck forward instinctively, animalistically. She enjoyed his subservience to her will. It made her feel in control and she needed that at that moment. With everything left unresolved with Tony, she needed to know that as much as Matthew could fuck with her head, she could do it right back. Mary even felt a little bad for him. He looked so painfully, so adorably, awkward, all the while she was on the top of her game, getting stares from both girls and guys alike, some out of envy, but most out of desire.

She leaned her head back onto his shoulders so that she into his ear.

"So… Matthew, how have you been?" Mary asked.

"I… I… I've been doing well," Matthew said as he tried to focus on his words.

"Relax Matthew," Mary said with a chuckle.

"I… I thought you were mad at me," Matthew said nervously.

"I was… I am…" Mary said languorously as she leaned into him. "I'm not sure how I feel anymore."

"Why would you let Rose drag you out to place like this?" Matthew asked.

"I'm having fun!" Mary said in her ditzy voice, imitating Rose and her friends.

"What happened Mary?" Matthew asked.

And as if those words triggered something in her, she turned around to face and stare him directly in the eyes. Her steely gaze frightened him. If there was something in her that forced her to be polite, something that told her to keep her emotions in check, all that was gone now.

"How dare you ask me that?" Mary said disdainfully. "You know what happened. You know what you did."

"I didn't do anything to you," Matthew said defensively. "I didn't mean to cause you any trouble. But if I did, I'm sorry."

Sorry? Sorry? As if that was enough. Mary thought about digging into her grievances right now but this wasn't the place to do it. And she was much too drunk. Suddenly, she didn't feel much like dancing anymore. She didn't feel like being there anymore at all. Matthew had ruined her mood. He had ruined her night out, her escapist fantasy. That's what Matthew did, he ruined things.

She hated that he had apologized so quickly and how genuine he sounded. He hated that she could build up all of this animosity towards him; her mantra of _damn, that Matthew Crawley_, convince herself that his photo had been the root of all of her problems with Tony, and have all of that just melt away after spending mere moments in his presence. Because if she wasn't mad at him, then she was something else; something much more dangerous.

"Forget it. It doesn't matter, let's go." Mary said defeatedly as she took a step back from him and turned to leave.

Matthew followed behind her closely.

"There's paparazzi outside," Matthew said.

"I know, Rose told me," Mary said disinterestedly as they made their way off the dance floor.

"They are going to eat you alive out there," Matthew said as they got to coat check.

"Tell me something I don't know," Mary said as she put her on coat.

"Mary, let me help out," Matthew said as he collected his things.

"You've done quite enough for me, Matthew," Mary said. "You can leave me to my public humiliation. I absolve you of all of your duties and whatever misplaced obligation you feel to help me."

But before she could leave, Matthew grabbed her hand.

"Please Mary," Matthew said earnestly. "Let me help you."

After a moment's hesitation, Mary relented and gave him a tacit nod. Matthew pulled out two small black leather pouches from his pocket and proceeded to unzip them. For a moment Mary thought they have have been guns.

"What are they?" Mary asked curiously.

"Camera flashes," Matthew said as he powered both of them up.

"And how does that help?" Mary asked.

"Everytime they take a shot, one of their flashes fire," Matthew explained. "One of the neat things flashes can do is they can trigger other flashes. I just have to set one of mine on slave mode as soon as one them takes a picture, mine will fire in response and wash out their shots completely. Every paparazzo out there knows you were here tonight, but none of them are going to get a single shot of you."

Mary was skeptical but went along with Matthew's plan. She steadied her nerves and followed behind Matthew as they left the building. Matthew had instructed her to look down while they walked as to not get blinded by his flashes. She wondered if that would look like shame to the paparazzi but Matthew assured her that they wouldn't have a sign frame to prove it.

Mary did as Matthew directed. They made their way through the bustling crowd of photographers, shouting invasive questions, making lewd comments, and asking if she would consider posing for them. Soon enough, Matthew had managed to lead her into the cab that he had left loitering earlier. He didn't say anything to her for several minutes after their daring escape, he gave Mary a few moments for her nerves to calm. She hadn't had to face a herd of rabid photographers like that in years. She had forgotten how utterly terrifying it could be. There was fame, and then there was superstardom. This was more the latter than the former.

"They'll be racing to my hotel now, won't they?" Mary asked after a few deep breaths.

"I would guess so," Matthew said somberly.

"Right then…" Mary said as she tried to affect her usual cheerful confidence, although not without with a slight rattle in her voice still. "Your place it is."

Matthew was shocked at her suggestion but had to admit that spending more time with her was pleasing idea. Matthew gave told the cabbie to drive back to where he had picked him up. Along the way the cabbie and Mary made polite and jovial conversation as he was naturally curious about her, as was everyone since the cover came out.

* * *

><p>By the time they got back to Matthew's condo it was nearly two in the morning. How was it that always found themselves in awkward and tense situations in the dead of night. Mary waltz into his suite as if it was an old homestead. Perhaps she considered it so. Resulting in two loud thuds, she kicked off her heels and went barefoot on his undoubtedly spotless floors. She wandered around his place looking at the photos on the walls. He had put up new photos since last time. Most of which tasteful and implied nudes with a few interesting celebrity portraits here and there.<p>

"Where am I?" Mary asked casually.

"Excuse me?" Matthew said as he came out of the kitchen with a glass of water in hand.

"You've got… Lady Gaga here, that one girl from those superhero movies, Steve Buscemi. You've built up quite a collection since I was last here," Mary said as she pointed at the photos. "Where am I?"

"Oh, ummm…" Matthew mumbled nervously as he handed her the glass of water. "I… I didn't make a print of that one. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Mary said as she forced a smile and took a big gulp of the water. She needed to rehydrate now, she felt herself dozing off in the cab. "Not that I expect anything from you."

"Mary…" Matthew let out softly.

"You didn't fight back this time," Mary said as she stared directly at him.

"Come on, it's late. We should get some sleep," Matthew said as he held out his hand towards his room. "You can have my room again."

"What a gentleman," Mary said sardonically as she strut towards his room.

Mary looked inside his room. It was immaculate, but that was to be expected. But it looked the same, exactly the same as the last time she was here. The time that something almost happened between them, the moment when something within her began to change, the moment where she began to look at Tony and the life she had built with him differently. It was the moment when she became unsure of everything, even herself. It all led back to Matthew.

"You don't ever sleep in here do you?" Mary asked as she stared at the photo book of Lavinia. It was exactly where she had left it.

"No," Matthew answered simply.

"So you stash me in your shrine to your ex-wife whenever I'm here," Mary said with a chuckle, unable to face, or recognizing how absurd and humiliating the situation was.

"What do you care?" Matthew said.

Mary turned around to look at Matthew. "What do I care? You're a fucking asshole, Matthew."

"Yeah, I think you've said that before," Matthew remarked dryly.

"You know, this whole situation is completely fucked up!" Mary said as her began to raise her voice. "How dare you, Matthew Crawley?"

"What the fuck did I do this time?" Matthew shouted back, finally breaking his stoic demeanour.

"There it is, there's the anger," Mary said with a satisfied voice.

"You want me to be angry? You want me to reciprocate your anger towards me? Is that it?" Matthew asked.

"Why didn't you fight back?" Mary asked.

"What? What are you talking about?" Matthew asked back.

"When we were at Marquee," Mary said. "When we were dancing. I could feel it in your hands and in your breath… why did you… why did you just let me torture you like that? Why didn't you fight back?"

"Look, you're either angry with me or you're not. I am sorry you regret taking my advice and allowing the magazine to use your photo, but I still think you made the right decision, it was a great photo and a great cover," Matthew said passively. "Whatever the case may be and whatever your reasons, you can be angry with me. But I'm not angry with you."

"You know, that's just not fair," Mary said as her expression broke and her voice began to quiver. "That's just not how this is suppose to work."

"What are you talking about?" Matthew asked.

"You're not supposed to have this kind of effect on me. You're the photographer, I'm the famous movie star! Not the other way around! So what the fuck, Matthew?!" Mary shouted as her voice cracked completely. "You don't get to barge into my life and make me question everything. You don't get to… you don't get to… insert yourself in between me and Tony."

"That's not what I did," Matthew whispered.

"That's exactly what you did," Mary said as she tried to contain herself. "And all the while… and all the while you fill my thoughts and my dreams… you… you're still stuck on her."

That caught Matthew off guard. Is that what she thought? Did Mary think that she had no effect on him whatsoever? His eyes darted up and towards her, pushed moved forward as she meekly retreated. He pinned her against the wall and blocked her escape with his arms. She stared helplessly at him, tears flowing from her eyes, heavy breathes escaping her as if she were drowning.

"Is that what you think?" Matthew asked calmly. "You think that you never cross my mind?"

"You don't have a picture of me…" Mary whispered.

"I don't need the reminder," Matthew said sternly.

"Matthew…" Mary whimpered.

"What do you want from me?" Matthew asked.

Mary's shaking hands traveled up from her sides and caressed his face. He leaned in closer, cherishing her touch, committing it to memory as he had done with every interaction with her. He could see the flutter in her eyes, he could see all of her, all of her fear, all of her pain, all of her confusion, all of her desire. Mary leaned forward and gently, desperately, tenderly kissed him. It took him a moment but he kissed her back with just as much tenderness and desperation as she did.

"This is wrong…" Matthew whispered as she finally broke their kiss.

"I know…" Mary whispered. "I know this is wrong. But I want this…"

"And what is it exactly…" Matthew said unsurely. "That you want?"

"I want… I want…" Mary said as she closed her eyes and tried to force out the words. "I want to know what it's like. I want to know what it is like to be merely be love but to be in love. I want to forget about everything that is so difficult and complicated at home. Just for this night… just for this night… I want to know it is to be desired and wanted… like you desire and want her…"

"Mary… it's not like that… you don't want-" Matthew said as he began to shake his head. Her hands stopped that.

"No… I _do_ want this…" Mary said. "I want you to fuck me like you fucked her."

**A/N:** I know this everyone has been enjoying the tension between these two, god knows I have, but just to be absolutely 100% clear, and I really supposed to write the next chapter of this? I can't just skip to the next morning?


	12. Chapter 11

_XI_

She stared back at him with those haunting, desperate eyes, glistening with want, trembling with despair, putting so many of her expectations on his shoulders. How was this fair? How had it suddenly become his duty to show her passion, desire, and all that she had willingly forsaken long ago? She had made her choice, she had at some point in her life decided that she wanted the certain things; career, boyfriend, money, over the excitement, adventure, passion, and love. That was her choice, even if she wasn't willing to admit it, even if she wasn't willing to utter those words out loud, Matthew knew it. He could see right through her. But it wasn't difficult in that moment to know, despite her inebriation, there was something true about her desires.

Being drunk doesn't mask who you are; it reveals it.

_She wouldn't have been his first choice but choice wasn't a luxury he could afford at that moment. In fact, he had stumbled into this job quite begrudgingly. He wasn't completely broke yet but he was damn close, and in his melancholy and his self-pity, he could see far enough ahead to know that getting a job was no longer just a step in the direction of self-improvement but a necessity of mere existence. But Tom had forbade him from going back into the conflict zones and Rose, through her father had set him up with a rather cushy opportunity, that no doubt, many (although not Matthew) would've killed for._

_It wasn't that he didn't like working with an art director above him, he didn't but it wasn't like he never had an editor telling him what to do before, and it wasn't that the job lacked challenge, it did but he wasn't adverse to an easy assignment once in a while. No, it was that he had to deal with the likes of her. Mary Crawley, he had seen her in movies before, movies that he liked very much, but he had no interest in meeting her in the flesh. Actors, singers, celebrities, these were the people he was to shoot from now on._

_After a lifetime of hiding out in the caves of Kandahar province and covering Hezbollah from a dingy one bedroom apartment in Beirut, it felt rather surreal to be standing in this spartan downtown Manhattan studio, waiting for a movie star to show up._

There was a certain anger in his expression if she was reading him right, and she wasn't sure that she was. Maybe she was just being paranoid, maybe her drunken senses were playing tricks on her, but there seemed to a frustration, however slight, in the subtle creases of his brow. Why was he angry? Was it the last thing she said? It must've been. Oh, how stupid it was to bring his ex-wife up now in a time like this. Especially after he had just kissed her. That must've taken an enormous amount of courage for him. How selfish of her. She had been so wrapped up in her own desires and her self-pity that she had completely failed to take into account how her words were being perceived. He didn't know it yet, but that was a common theme in her drunken state.

_Mary was everything he expected her to be. How unsurprising and, in some curious way, infuriating. The logical portion of his brain told him that celebrities were just people, and indeed she was. Her skin wasn't the perfect satin sheen that he had seen on so many movie posters and in TV interviews. And she had a split second of clumsiness in which she nearly dropped her phone. But she was still blindingly beautiful nonetheless. And something about her actions; the grace of her stride, the gentility of her motions and gestures, that suggested she knew exactly how beautiful she was as well._

_She was no different in front of the camera. She was a master of the art of posing. Matthew hadn't worked with models since his days of hobby shooting during undergrad in which the goal was, more often than not, to get into the pants of whatever girl had agreed to model for him. Consequently, he had never had too much experience with models who knew what they were actually doing. Mary absolutely knew. She knew all of her good angles and she knew how to shift her weight and turn her head. She was unflinching in the face of experimentation. Matthew had asked her to try other poses and she immediately took to them._

_If there was a push and pull between Mary's predefined persona, carefully crafted over the course of a long illustrious career, and Matthew's vision of a person between the veneer of perfection, Mary was certainly winning. Matthew found himself falling into her rhythms, allowing her to dictate the shoot. Sure, he had the ultimate decision of choosing the shots and where the light was and what shutter speed and ISO to set his camera to, but ultimately the vision of Mary Crawley, perfect, untouchable, and serene, was not of his creation. It was hers._

_Perhaps it was then, in the moments between shots, in the minutes when he switched cameras and she took a short water break, that the spell was cast._

Slowly and mournfully, her eyes fell away from his. She wanted him and she had made it known in the plainest, bluntest, most desperate fashion possible and all he could do was stand there, unreasonably, uncomfortably close, staring wordlessly back at her. She wish she could've taken those words back. She knew exactly how it must've sounded to him.

He didn't break his stare even as she averted her eyes. If the insult of her proposal was hitting her, it hit her much faster than he had expected. He thought he would have to wait for the morning, for the hangover and the slow re-emergence of memories for her to come to realize what she had implied. Yes, it was a little sad that, in her most honest moments, Mary Crawley, desired hundreds and thousands of men across the world, thought so little of herself. Yes, it was rather insulting to Matthew's honour that she would think that he could possibly just use her as a fucktoy. But what truly disappointed him, was how little their burgeoning relationship meant to her.

Sure, he didn't know what they were yet. Friends, colleagues, maybe… just maybe paramours. Even if the ghost of Lavinia haunted him, especially in these late hours, Mary was and could never be just a stand-in for her.

_He was chatting with the makeup artist and the stylist like the good proletariat that he was, until they insisted that they had other appointments. The truth was that there was something intimidating about Mary Crawley and he'd rather not look a fool if he could help it. The camera between them had been the great equalizer during the shoot. It made her more pliant, or so he thought. But as Matthew waited for her to change afterwards, he grew increasingly nervous._

_Matthew sat down on the couch and patiently waited for Mary to finish getting dressed. From across the room, Rose was giving him funny looks. It had been a while since he had hung out with Rose, he forgot how weird she could be at times. But she didn't try to make conversation and was constantly ducking in behind the screen to check on Mary's progress._

_There was a large window facing westward behind the screen. The afternoon light flooded the space and naturally created a silhouette of the famous actress as she disrobed. As soon as he realized what he was looking, he pried his gaze away from the screen. Or at least he tried to. He chalked it up to his curiosity rather than his baser urges. He watched intently as she unzipped her dress from behind and slowly bend over and push them down to her ankles. And if he just happened to catch a glimpse of her butt and her black lace panties poking out the side of the screen, well that was an act of God._

"I'm sorry… I shouldn't have said that," Mary whispered with a slight tremor in her voice.

He caught her hand as she tried to leave and held her by the sheer strength of his grip, causing her eyes to shoot back up. He looked back at her, fearlessly but compassionately. If he was insulted by her thoughtless suggestion, he let it slide for he sensed a deeper pain, an urgency, and a hidden desperation that was far more than what her words suggested.

"Mary…" Matthew said softly.

"I shouldn't have inserted myself between you too," Mary said apologetically.

"That's not what you did," Matthew replied. "Look, I'm not judging you… I'm not looking down on you, I'm not pitying you… I just can't do what you're asking."

"Am I really that repulsive?" Mary asked with a grimace.

"Don't say that. You know that's not true," Matthew said sternly but gently. "Every talk show in the country says it's not true. Every teenage boy across the globe says it's not true."

"What do you say?" Mary asked aggressively.

"I say... I couldn't have taken that picture if I didn't see in you…" Matthew said as his voice trailed off.

"Say it…"

"...great beauty." Matthew said plainly, rising up to her challenge and surmounting it with ease. He wasn't afraid to admit that. He had already done so. And if all she needed was to hear it again, in a moment of vulnerability, it cost him nothing to repeat himself.

"But not compared to her…" Mary said ruefully.

"And why must I compare you to her?" Matthew asked.

"Because she clouds your mind still…" Mary replied as she wiped away that tears that again began to form in the corners of her eyes. "And you cloud mine…"

"It's true…" Matthew replied with a confessional nod. "She does, but that's not why I can't take you in this moment…"

"I know, I know," Mary said with a dismissive and slightly hysterical chuckle. "You're too honourable. Too nice to use me like that. Rose told me."

"It's not like that…" Matthew said.

"Really?" Mary asked defensively and incredulously. "Because you haven't even pointed out how despicable it is that I'm trying to cheat on my boyfriend right now."

"I don't need to make you feel worse than you already do…" Matthew said affecting a sympathetic tone. "And… a part of me doesn't want to remind you."

"Why do I find that hard to believe?" Mary asked rhetorically.

"Because you want to compartmentalize this, you want to stuff it in a box away from the rest of your life," Matthew replied.

"And you don't compartmentalize anything," Mary said sarcastically.

"I don't want to compartmentalize this…" Matthew said.

It took her a few moments to realize what he was saying and even then she wasn't quite sure of his meaning. Did he just admit that he wanted more out of this? Did he _like _her? Did he think of her more than just that beautiful girl he once sheltered for a night? He was so defensive and standoffish before. He seemed to want nothing to do with her. Was that all an act? Was he just as taken with her as she was with him? Had he seen something in her before she even took notice?

"Wh… why?" Mary's words stumbled out as her mind still reeled from his last revelation.

"Because… with you… I felt something new…" Matthew said unsurely. "I haven't felt anything new in quite a long time…"

"You've never told me this before," Mary said with a pleasant lilt in her voice.

"I didn't expect to see you again," Matthew said looking down with an embarrassed grin.

"Why not?" Mary asked genuinely.

"As you said, you're the famous movie star. I'm the photographer…" Matthew said looking back up at her, this time with contrition and surrender in his expression.

Mary smiled. For the first time since they left the club, Mary managed a smile. Maybe there was some satisfaction in hearing him admit to their obvious power dynamic, even if she knew that it wasn't entirely true and their burgeoning relationship was far more complex and nuanced than that. It felt good nonetheless, it felt as though he was letting her have this one.

"No, this is my pity party, you can't crash," Mary said with a girlish giggle.

Matthew simply returned the smile. He didn't respond. He didn't need to.

"I'm not ready for that," Mary said as she leaned back against the wall and relaxed her shoulders.

"I'm not asking for anything," Matthew replied.

"I know," Mary said as she looked away embarrassed and scratched her forehead. "I am… don't remind me."

"I just don't want to put those feelings away," Matthew explained gently.

"Even though you never expected to see me again?" Mary asked incredulously.

"I'll take what I can get right now," Matthew replied.

Mary's eyes shot up. That caught her a little by surprise. She was sure he didn't hear him right or misunderstood his meaning. But she had to check, she had to look into his eyes just in case.

"But not that," Matthew clarified.

"Why not?" Mary asked desperately.

"Because you're better than that, you're not just a replacement fuck for her," Matthew said.

"I think you know by now, I'm a little bit guarded and maybe that's what you like, maybe you're in it for the mystery. I get it, I don't blame you. But if you want the real Mary Crawley…" Mary said as she stared back at him defeated and disappointed.

"Fine, but you can't be Lavinia to me," Matthew replied firmly.

They stood there staring at each other, Mary leaning against the wall with her hands tucked behind her back, Matthew with his one arm propping him up; the only obstacle that prevented him from inching ever closer to her. He wanted to kiss her, she wanted it as well and with their eyes, they simultaneously pulled each other in and pushed the other away. They were both stubborn in that maddening way that would cause casual observers to scream with frustration. She; unready to show her true self to him, and he; unwilling to use her as a mere plaything.

"Maybe we compromise?" Mary suggested coyly.

"I don't… what?" Matthew asked in a befuddled voice.

"I'm not ready to be Mary Crawley," Mary answered with a sigh before continuing with, "you don't want me to be Lavinia. How about I'm the movie star and you're the photographer?"

Neither dared move in that moment as the possibility and the temptation coursed through their brains. Mary wondering if he would be receptive to the idea. Matthew wondering what he could do to the beauty in front of him. She had just invited his most base and animalistic urges to take free rein, could she handle it? Had she underestimated kind gallant Matthew Crawley once again? Or perhaps she wanted to his more dangerous side. Perhaps she was tired of merely hearing stories of Matthew the Adventurer and wanted to experience it for herself.

"Deal," he said.

Swiftly, and without warning, Mary was pinned against the wall, the back of her head colliding with the drywall a little harder than she would've liked. She felt no pain but surmised that she would feel it in the morning. But she also surmised that a lot of things would hurt in the morning and there was no sense in stopping now. Her hands immediately took to the task of exploring the lumbering creature that had trapped her. His warm tongue danced across her slender neck, causing a shiver to permeate down her spine and her fingers to curl and crawl into his back. She instinctively wrapped one leg around his, as if tacitly giving him permission and access.

He obliged her not so subtle invitation by hosting her up by her thighs. She was now staring down at him as his mouth traveled from her neck across her chest, perilously close to her breasts, causing her to heave and a pant desperately. Suddenly, he stopped and looked up at her with a devious grin and those piercing blue eyes. The eyes of the devil himself.

A devil with a camera.

**A/N:** I know I know, that was a cruel thing to do. But it was the holidays and I was moving and I was watching sappy Hallmark holiday movies. Anyways, here's the chapter. Hope the wait wasn't too bad and hope that this was worth it.


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N:** One last warning! I'm serious!

_XII_

Like a serpent, his hands traveled up and down her torso, devouring her, claiming her. How soft they were when they helped her out of the cab. How gentle they seemed when he guided her into to his apartment by the small of her back. They were capable of being firm of course, she had noticed the way his fingers gripped his cameras. And they were steady enough to catch her in her drunken stupor as they made their way from the lobby, to the elevator, and finally to his suite. But she never imagined this. She never imagined these hands. These hands were hungry. They wanted her, more than his polite demeanour and brooding affectation had let on.

But they weren't impatient. Something about his meticulousness and his controlled presence told her that she could be in for a long torturous night of teasing if she wasn't careful. It would kill her. And she supposed that nothing would please him more than that. She couldn't beat him in this. She could be as witty and insightful about life and love and loss as him. She could be as charming and inviting, standoffish, and distant as him. She could definitely be as guarded as him. But she couldn't be as patient.

She whimpered in his clutches as he left a trail of kisses from behind her ear down to her collarbone. It was all she could do. Between the wall and his person, who had so ably, so skillfully pinned her in place, there was nothing but surrender. And if Matthew knew this, he did not mock her with it. Nor did he pretend like he could not do with her what he willed in that moment. It made no difference to him. All he knew in that moment was that there was a maddeningly beautiful woman in front of him and he wanted all of her.

His hand slid down her torso, grabbing the elastic hem of her dress and popped it up. And as if it were actually made out of some sort of rubber, it bounced up revealing, in one sudden motion, the entirety of her bare bottom. Wasting no time, his hands attacked. They squeezed and massaged that which first had drawn his curiosity and his excitement the moments after their first photoshoot. He never dreamed that he would ever get to touch the goddess herself. His hands danced around her flesh, searching for panties to pull aside. It took him a while but he finally managed to grab hold of a tiny thin band of material, clearly not actually covering any part of her ass.

"You call that underwear?" Matthew whispered and shot Mary a mischievous look.

"This dress is tighter than my skin, get over it," Mary shot back as she hooked her thumb into her thong.

"Wait," Matthew said as he placed a hand on hers. "Leave it."

Mary's slight annoyance quickly melted into a flirtatious grin. Their lips quickly locked again as now both Matthew's hands grabbed hold of her ass and hoisted her up. Mary responded by wrapping her legs around him and locking her ankles. He carried her over into the bedroom, and stuffing his instinctive feeling of remorse aside, he dropped her onto the bed. Mary sat up and stared up at the Matthew as she unzipped her dress and slid out of it. She was nervous, but her drunken lust mitigated much of that. She looked hot and she knew it. She had caught him staring at her at the club, slack-jawed.

Matthew watched as she slowly slid out of her dress. She strategically placed her hands across her chest, covering that which he so desperately wanted to see. Surprisingly, he had not seen her breasts in movies, she had been selective about her nudity in her choosing of roles. He tried to keep his mind focused on that. This was not to be Mary Crawley, this was just some hot, sexy, movie star that he had the good fortune of getting to fuck. Nothing more. That's the way she wanted it and truth be told, it wasn't a hard request to abide by.

As soon as she was in nothing but her tiny little thong that Matthew earlier urged her to keep on, Matthew moved in. He leaned her back onto the bed and began to kiss her again. Their tongues wrestled and danced around, each enjoying the taste of the other even if Mary tasted of Cosmos and Appletinis. He carefully pried her hands from her breasts and pinned them to above her head before his lips left her and began to travel downward.

He circled around her breast with gentle kisses while massaging the other with great vigour. He could feel her tremble every time his lips touched her soft skin. Finally, and torturously, he took her nipple into his mouth. Mary's back arched and her chest shot up to meet him. Waves of pleasure, that which she hadn't felt in a long time, and by all measures, shouldn't be feeling permeated through her body.

But soon his mouth left her breasts to the cold of the air-conditioned room. By the time Mary realized where he was going next it was too late. He had already left a trail of kisses down her navel and was now squarely between her legs, with only the thinnest layer of fabric blocking his path. How feeble a defense it was. Perhaps, that's what he liked about it. Perhaps, he liked the ludicrous pretense that it covered anything. It didn't cover her ass, it barely covered her pubic region, and it certainly wasn't going to stop his tongue.

"Matthew, wait-ahhhh," Mary let out, as her words of consternation were overtaken by a primal howl of pleasure and uncertainty.

Her moaning only excited him more. He placed her legs on his shoulders and held down her hips. She couldn't squirm away from this. Nor would she want to in a few minutes. No woman ever wanted to escape this, and in a few moments, neither would Mary. And sure it enough, her frantic swiping insensibly melted into a languid grip on the bed sheets, and her squirming became a rhythmic buck against his face which eagerly accepted and returned with equal force.

It had been so long, so very long since she allowed a man to kiss her there. She had forgotten what pleasures, what sweet sweet carnal joy, she had forsook. How terrible and how wonderful that it was this strange American photographer that would remind her. But he did more than that, he was, with every stroke of his tongue, with every penetrating finger, imprinting forever on her mind the greatest joy, never to be forgotten again (for better or for worse). And suddenly, almost as if without warning, she could feel the buildup of heat, the involuntary shaking of her legs, her heavy breathing, she was close. Too close for comfort. _Wait, stop, no, I don't want this, I don't want to experience this knowing that I'll never have it again._ But despite herself, she came.

Loudly and violently, her whole body shook on his bed. If it was devious for him to enjoy the power he currently wielded over her, knowing that all her pleasure, all her desire, came from and focused on him and him alone, well then he was the devil himself. But he had no malicious intentions, quite the opposite. He slowly kissed the insides of her shuddering thighs and soothingly rubbed her stomach until her tremors faded. He wanted her to enjoy every second of ecstasy, for he planned to take her on that ride all over again.

If she had any perception of time left, it was all but gone now. She didn't know how long she had been laying there, motionless, on his bed. It felt like hours but more likely it was probably just a few minutes. She didn't care, she hadn't experienced an orgasm like that in years. She hadn't allowed herself to. All of her walls, all of her safeguards, came crashing down around her with every stroke of his tongue, leaving her a whimpering mess. She had been too drunk to put up much of a fight.

He seemed patient with her. He allowed her the time to recover and come back to her senses. But that didn't mean he wouldn't take the opportunity and the free time to explore and enjoy more of her. He massaged her calves and sucked on her toes, fondled her butt and ran his fingers through her hair as he laid gently kisses along her neck, feeling the rhythm of her recovering breath. He played with her nipples gently, knowing full well how sensitive she was at the moment.

Eventually, Mary opened her eyes and saw him staring back at her. Stoic but warm, gently stroking her hair as he carefully positioned himself atop of her, making sure not to crush her underneath his weight. _Oh God, not this. Anything but this moment._ What was he staring at with those sad eyes? What exactly did he see? Was he looking at Lavinia or Mary? Was he watching her return to herself after an intense bodily experience? Was he merely admiring her beauty as he had done through the lens of his camera? Who was she to him?

And suddenly, a moment of panic struck her as an moment of fierce emotion. And out of that panic, she whispered, seductively, wantonly, "fuck me, fuck me, now!"

She might've regretted such a forward command but she had no time to reconsider before he enthusiastically complied. Like nothing she had ever felt before, like nothing she could have ever imagined, he entered her with the swiftness of a fox, with the power of a lion. He felt like steel. Mary let out a breathless and soundless moan. Contorting her face in bittersweet agony, pain and pleasure, fused into one indescribable, unfathomable sensation. She leaned her head back and dug her nails into his back, clawing at him, hanging on for her sanity and her life as he moved atop of her like a waves against the shore. Rhythmic, and relentless, she heard the splatter of rain against the window. She turned her head to look outside and saw a flash of lightning. Its fury matched his. As if he commanded the thunder and the rains itself. What could she do but surrender to such a force?

He couldn't decide if it was malicious, but he knew it was primal. It was as if he was watching himself do this to her. He seemed to take great pleasure in methodically and persistently, dismantling her perfectly manicured exterior. As if with every thrust, every time he touch the deepest parts of her, some portion of her public persona chipped and fell away. As if with every moan, every howling moan, she revealed something more of her true self. In fact, there was great satisfaction in knowing that, despite her unwillingness to let him in, to let him get to know the real her, he make her reveal herself. He savoured every detail about her. Things that she would probably not want him to remember, nevermind know. He loved how her legs kick and pinch together every time he moved into her. He loved the way her nipples stood erect, unwavering, and begging for his touch, to which he obviously obliged. He loved the way, her neck stretched as she moaned and screamed her way into heaven.

And when he turned her around and placed her on all fours. He loved the way her back arched and the way her spine curled from the pulses of paradise. He loved the way her toes curled as he entered her again and again and the way her legs would kick involuntarily, responding violently to his every motion. He loved the way her ass bounced against him, responding, wildly and passionately, despite her submissive cries, her body knew how to fight back. She was a beast to be tamed, he had to break her, she was inviting him to do so. And he would take such joy in the effort.

This night, she wanted to be the movie star, and she wanted him to be the lecherous photographer. _Fine, but remember, you reap what you sew._

Mary grabbed onto a pillow and held on tightly as his thrusts came relentlessly and passionately. He pulled on her thong, like thin little reins, helping him pull her hips back onto him at the most penetrating moment of contact. With his other hand he grabbed a handful of hair and buried her face into that pillow, muffling her screams and causing her to bite down. It was probably for the best. Did he have neighbours? Could they hear her? Thank god for the thunderstorm.

She was surprised by her lack of surprise to Matthew's fury. He seemed so mild-mannered, polite, and melancholic when they first met. But it didn't surprise her. In fact, he made more sense than ever now. Despite his self-loathing and all of his self-deprecation, there was an unshaken confidence in him. That which was often masked by his manners and his chivalry. She hadn't questioned where it had come from. But now, she could see and feel all of his misery, all of his conflict, all of his confusion, pouring out with every thrust. He was a man caught between worlds. Caught between the safe and sanitized, but ultimately hollow and vapid existence in New York, and the dangerous, scary, but ultimately exhilarating existence abroad. Too hard for one world but not quite hard enough for the other, he was caught in the middle. And all of his gentility and his voluntary seclusion was a mere manifestation of that unease about existing in a world that he knew he could never truly belong to. He was wearing a mask. He was always wearing a mask.

Just like she was.

Oblivion came in the form of that familiar white light. Encapsulating her entire being, covering every inch of her with fiery desire and ever more want, causing her to howl and scream like a banshee. He seemed to enjoy it. Of course he would. It only made him more enthusiastic, more beastly. She could practically hear him growl.

This wasn't fair. How could this be? How could this be happening again? Had she bargained for this pleasure, these heights of glory? No, she wanted a night of sloppy drunken sex, smeared makeup, a ripped thong, but an intact heart. Not this. This was something else. This was something more. No, she couldn't be feeling this. How could she ever give up this?

And then it happened. Again. With more intensity and force than the first time.

She was going to be sore in the morning.

Mary hadn't realized that she had passed out from the pulsating waves of post-orgasmic bliss until she came to in another position. They were spooning now, facing a small mirror beside his bed. He had indeed torn off her thong. She knew better but she was curious. She looked at herself in the mirror and the arms of the man that held her close. Extremely close, too close. She was willing to admit that she looked extremely sexy taking him as his arms wrapped around her and massaged her breasts. Her hair was beyond a mess, but she supposed he liked that. He seemed to take great pleasure in making her disheveled.

But she couldn't take it for long. She turned her head and averted her eyes. Just then, she felt his other hand catch her chin and guided her lips to his. _Come on, man, yes do it, stick your tongue down my throat._ But he didn't. He kissed her tenderly and loving lip, massaging her lips with his. And just like that, those feelings, those indescribably, disconcerting feelings came rushing back.

_You can't kiss me like that while you're pounding away at me like an animal. I can't feel my legs!_

Just then as he was kissing her, he removed himself from her and began to frantically stroke himself. It would seem that he didn't feel right about releasing himself in her. _What a gentleman._ Mary took the opportunity to take him into her own hands and finish him off. After all, he had done it twice for her already, it was only fair that she should get to score at least one point.

It caught him off guard but he had no inkling to resist. Her hands were heavenly, soft, warm, and surprisingly strong. It took her no time to bring him to orgasm. His body shook violently as he buried his head into her shoulder. His gasped clenched and squeezed her breasts as she milked him dry. It had been so long and it was far better than he remembered. For the minutes immediately after he had no strength to move and adjust. He just laid there, next to her, body to body, skin to skin, basking in the afterglow of animal passion. And perhaps something more.

He watched her, in a dreamlike haze, as she commented on how much there was, and how long it must've been for him. She tried to get out of bed but he would let her, his arms wouldn't let her go. He needed her to be near him. She looked over her shoulder seductively at him. He watched as she saw her hand come up to her face, dripping in his semen. She licked her fingers clean and teased him with "Is this what you like? You like your women to be whores? Or perhaps you just like it when your women enjoy you, all of you. Perhaps, next time you can finish on my face, that's what men like right?" _Next time?_ Would there be a next time?

He didn't respond to the teasing. He deserved it. He had done some pretty wanton things to her and a little mockery was in order. If it turned out that, in the end, he was nothing more than a lecherous photographer who played the long game to get into a famous movie star's pants, he could accept that. But he didn't think so. Because for some reason, hours after their pornographic fuck session, after all bodily desires had been thoroughly satisfied, while he held her as she slept, he…

he still wanted to kiss her.

**A/N:** What can I say? I gave you ample warning.


End file.
